The Cracked Link
by sarcasticrocker86
Summary: Andrew Ryan went through great lengths to bury the story of the man once called Johnny Topside. It's time the truth came out, isn't it? How "The Rapture Dream" can quickly become a living nightmare.
1. Prologue: Stranger

**Prologue: Stranger**

Greg Parker always hated putting on the diving suit.

"Don't worry about it, hoss," Clark laughed at him as he and Davis buckled and zipped Parker into his suit. "Just a quick fix and you're outta that thing."

"The sooner the better," Parker returned.

"Alright, alright," Davis announced in his no nonsense way. "If we don't get this leak patched soon, O'Mally will have us strung up right beside those smugglers."

Clark waved him off complacently. "Please," he scoffed. "O'Mally's all bark and no bite. She told me once if I didn't quit drinking on the job, she'd have my arse at Adonis Resorts, serving lemonade to the snooty trophy wives."

"And?" Greg asked, fitting his helmet on. "Did you quit?"

Clark placed a hand into his jacket and whipped out a flask ceremoniously. "What do you think?"

Greg saw Davis shake is head disapprovingly but chuckle. "Yea, well, Kate don't got a mark on your back like she does mine. So help my skin out a little and let's get this leak fixed." He said it in a casual tone, but Parker could see the flicker in his eyes.

"Fine. Okay, Greg, the leak is on the far corner of McDonagh's Tavern. Try to steer clear of the windows. You know the public hates the idea of Eden leaking." Clark fastened the helmet securely.

"You've got enough air for a good hour, but you know as well as I do oxygen prices are going up. Fix everything up as quickly as possible." Davis passed Greg the welding tool, who grunted a thank you.

"Oh, one more thing," Davis snatched the flask from a guzzling Clark, flicked open Greg's helmet, and gave the diver a swig. Shutting the helmet again, Davis winked and said, "Be careful out there. You need anything, the radio's on and ready in case of any problems."

Greg nodded and Clark snatched the flask back, grumbling. "Get out there, ya bumbling palooka."

Greg hated the diving suit, but loved being out in the ocean, It was so easy to feel trapped in an underwater city. Especially with the escalating problems he read about in the papers. Parker stared out at the kelp and vegetation, glittering against the city lights refracted on the water. The sand encompassed his boots, gathering a cloud behind him. Fish swam with odd complacency beside him. He could name a few. Above, much larger, some even frightening, fish and predators met their city with confused fascination. A whale bellowed above. Somewhere, on the surface, Greg imagined the lighthouse standing tall in the middle of nowhere, a needle in the haystack to the rest of the surface and untouched. Alone and beautiful.

Even while the problems of the Ryan and Fontaine and the smugglers seemed so large, they didn't seem to expand into the sea. Out here, Parker saw that their great city was little more than a blip in the Atlantic.

And wasn't that the beauty of it? Their own little hidey hole from the world.

Greg shook himself and began to stomp through the sandy ocean bottom, hearing nothing but his breathing and muffled stomps.

"Halfway there," Parker announced quietly as he trekked through to the Tavern.

"Well, crap, son!" Clark voice came harshly into his ear. "Pick up the pace!"

Greg didn't reply. His eyes suddenly caught something lying on the sand in the distance.

"Hey, what color are those ADAM slugs?"

"Brownish," Davis answered. "Leave 'em alone. The eggheads don't want any disturbances in their habitat for a while."

"Too late for that," Greg mumbled.

"You ever splice, Davis?" he heard Clark ask.

"Nah. My mom gave me my genes. How insulting would I be if I just rewrote them like that?"

Clark gave a hoarse laugh. "Such a good ol' boy. But I see your point. I once met this seedy little beauty in Siren Alley. Told me she spliced on the job. For enhancement, I guess? Anyway, I saw her just a few days ago coming outta Suchong's clinic. She won't be finding work like she was anymore. Sores, deformities—the whole shebang. Jeez, makes you think twice about splicing."

"But you do it, anyway," Davis added.

"Ya gotta love Booze Hound."

Greg smiled and continued on, squinting at the mass. It was looking far too large to be a slug...

"So, Greg," Clark addressed him over the radio. "You ever splice at all? No judgments here, ya know."

"Oh, my..." Greg fought against the current to speed up toward the object. All of the fish that had been so comfortable around him began to scoot away in fear and confusion. He had to get to whatever that thing was. He had to get their now and find out what exactly it was.

"Ah, don't worry about it. Ain't like it's a shame down here, any—"

"We've got a man down out here!"

"What? What are you—"

"Just what I said, Clark! I've got a diver down out here!"

"That's not possible. There shouldn't be anyone but you out there. Who—"

"I don't know! But we've got to get him inside now. I think he's running out of air!"

"Get out of my way, Clark." Davis's voice was calm but firm. "Are you absolutely sure, Parker?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"Okay, calm down. I'm coming out there. See if you can budge him at all."

Davis shut off the radio. "Let's go, Clark! Get me a suit _now_."

Clark looked bewildered. "How...?"

"Right now, I could care less. Get me that suit now or that man dies."

Outside, Greg tugged on the fallen diver's arm. He knew it was futile. With all the weight he already had on him, it would take at least two of them to move the diver more than a few inches. Removing the man from the suit was impossible at the amount of pressure even if he had the oxygen to give him. His suit didn't allow a way to share air.

Greg Parker had never felt so helpless.

"Davis, stop it!" Clark struggled with the buckles as Davis stomped toward the doors to the outside. Always has to be the man of action, Clark thought irritably.

"Finish up now, Clark." Davis's voice was a demanding one. He placed the helmet on.

"I'm not done. Wait a minute."

"No."

"Davis! I don't know if everything's secure!"

"I don't care. Get that door open now."

"But I'm not even sure you have enough air for the trip!"

"_NOW_, Clark!"

Clark hurried over and got the door open. "Yer gonna get yourself killed."

Davis replied, "Better than to have a dead man's blood on my hands."

Clark started to argue, but instead stopped and took another gulp from his flask. "Gotta love Booze Hound..." he said to no one in particular.

Parker saw Davis approaching and sighed in relief. Over the two way radio, he said, "The guy has barely oxygen left. He'll suffocate if—"

"No, he won't." Davis crouched by the unconscious man. He pulled one of his tanks off of himself. Greg watched a few precious bubbles of air flutter up to the surface so far from his reach on the ocean floor. Davis fed the oxygen into the diver's suit. "Should last 'til we get him in," he said.

Davis and Parker used all of their strength to lift the diver to the air lock inside Rapture's halls. The first few steps were easy. After that it was near torchure. Greg's sweat ran cold down his suit, his breathing hard and fogging his helmet, his heart pounding. His arms began to quiver halfway there. He wished silently he had spliced with Sports Boost.

"Almost... there, Greg. Just a bit more," Davis sounded even more exhausted than he.

Greg saw a glittering rock to his left and perked up. It was his own little landmark. Just thirty-four more steps and they would be there.

Rapture.

_"Where the artists would not fear the censor. Where the scientists would not be bound by petty __morality. Where the great would not be constrained by the small. And through the sweat of your brow, Rapture can be your city as well."_

Every time the city loomed over him like this as he returned from a repair, Parker would be overwhelmed with it's significance. Greg saw real freedom in that city. Not the word politicians threw out at him to get him to fight in a war, but the kind that was real and authentic. Greg would always feel a little ashamed for thinking of Rapture as a trap. It truly was the only bit of liberty he felt he had ever seen in his life.

Clark opened the air lock and the ocean shut behind the men. The water drained from the room and the two men collapsed along with the unidentified diver in their arms.

Clark swore as he came over to them. "Get up, you idiots. And get those helmets off now."

Clark helped them out of their helmets, Davis sucking in the air as soon as it was off.

"He...he needs a doctor..." Davis gasped.

"Sure. Just let me get you out of that—"

"No. He needs a doctor now. And a bed. And anything to give him more oxygen into those lungs. Is he even breathing?" Davis was already moving over to the diver.

"Now, hold on, here..."

"We don't have time for this. Go get that doctor now."

"There's already one on the way. You need to sit up. I'll take of him."

Davis reluctantly obeyed, still breathing hard. Greg pulled himself up toward him. "Who is this guy?" Greg asked, gesturing to the diver Clark was now doing CPR on.

"I don't know." Davis said simply.

"You do know what this could mean, don't you?"

"Yes," Davis slumped against the wall. They were silent for a moment.

"He's breathing," Clark announced. "Barely."

"It means this guy would probably be better off dead."


	2. Paradise or Perdition?

**Chapter 1: Paradise or Perdition?**

My eyes opened only to shut again. The florescent lights above cut through my lids like a knife. It hurt. Everything hurt.

No. Hurt was the way someone might describe a few scrapes or bruises. Hurt was a paper cut or a stubbed toe. This... this was something else. I didn't know what, but definitely not hurt.

What had happened to me?

Was I drunk last night? No, I don't drink. Did I get in a fight? Had I been in an accident? Maybe I would have remembered if that bone saw had quit eating through my skull as I tried to get my bearings.

Fish. There had been fish. And water. Lots of water. And Captain Boucher. He had said, "Good luck, son. You had better watch yourself down there." For what? Had I been in danger? And I remembered going down deep... deeper than I should have gone with that little oxygen in my tank. Why would I do _that? _Because there was something in the sea...

Lights. Lights like back in Manhattan. Deep at the bottom of the ocean.

My eyes snapped open. Atlantis! I had found Atlantis!

Oh, my head ached, but I sat up. I was on a bed, the kind found at a hospital, in nothing but my underwear. We were hundreds of miles away from any land, how did I get here?

Atlantis... Atlantis had hospital beds that looked like they came from Hoboken Medical?

My head continued to throb. Maybe I had just dreamed the whole thing. Dreamed that I had found an underwater Utopia. Dreamed that I had started running completely out of air. Dreamed about the boat, the crew, all those missing vessels. Dreamed about—about everything?

Was I going completely insane?

"He's finally starting to stir, Davis. It's been two days," My ears pricked up at the human conversation coming from outside the closed door of my hospital room. A man was speaking, sounding agitated. "We have to do something now. You think we can just slip this under the rug?"

"It's just not right, Clark. It's like murder." A new, more authoritative voice answered the first.

"You don't know that."

"Have you been reading the same papers I have? Hanging, Clark. For _contraband_. Ryan will do anything to keep Rapture a secret. How do you think he'll react to a someone just stumbling onto this place?"

"It can't just be coincidence, Davis."

"And why not? You need to get out in that suit more often, Clark. We're not as hidden as we think we are. You never thought that eventually someone would find it?"

"Not by accident. Not by a roll of the dice. Look, you're getting too worked up about this. You don't even know who that guy lying on that bed is. He could be a CIA spook or... or even one of them frogmen."

"You think he's a Japanese spy?" the man gave a sarcastic voice of caution. "Call Roosevelt! Call Churchill! We've got a Nazi in there!"

"I'm serious, Davis. And if we get caught with him, we could be in the same boat. Even the doc said he wanted his identity kept anonymous. He's afraid he'll get his neck stretched just for _helping_ this poor schmuck! I wish I could laugh at it, but he may very well be wise in the paranoia. We have to report to Ryan now."

The second man's voice became deathly serious. "I can't do that. There's no way I can just hand this guy over to be a sheep to the slaughter. If I were gonna do that, I would have just left him to suffocate in that suit."

Suffocate... I had been right! I had really been right. I wasn't going nuts, not losing my mind. I really _had_ found Atlantis.

And it was looking like they were gonna kill me for it.

The first man spoke again, "If you won't do it, I will. This guy ain't worth dying over."

The words snapped through my ears to the depths of my brain, setting something off. I was in trouble. I was going to become some kind of prisoner if I didn't figure a way out of this. I scanned the room quickly. It was the size of an average hospital. The bed and nightstand beside it were the only furniture in the room. No windows, of course. Under the Atlantic, I couldn't possibly expect to climb out of here like Rapunzel. The only exit was the door that, no doubt, led to the two men arguing about my fate. I had no weapons. I was too weak to think I could win an attack using only my bare hands in the condition I was in.

Fine. Then I would at least go down trying. I was no man to just lay down and die. I'd be beaten down, and die with my boots on. Anything but give up. Anything but fall a coward.

I watched the knob start to turn.

"Wait, Clark," the second man's voice was pleading. "Let me just talk to him first, okay?"

There was a long pause, but finally the first one sighed sadly. "It's only going to make things harder."

They both sounded as though they were talking about putting down a dog. Was that was what I was now, deep down here? Just a common mutt? I shivered at the thought.

The door opened and the two men entered. I pegged the first voice as the shorter, older looking man with the scruffy red beard, and the second voice to the younger, taller man looking of deep concern.

"Good, you're awake" the younger one said. "I, uh, guess we should get formalities out of the way. My name's Eddie Davis."

I nodded without a word. Davis gestured to the shorter one, "This is Dennis Clark."

Clark stared at me, discomfort plain in his face. I opened my mouth to speak, but Clark raised a hand, "No. We don't need to know your name."

"Clark!" Davis was appalled.

"You want to lie to him? You want to put on a happy face and tell him it'll be okay when we both know it won't be? Whether or not it's fair, he's here, and there's no other way around it. He's got to be turned over to Ryan now, before we all get pulled in too deep to climb out."

Davis looked speechless, confliction written all over his face. Clark, on the other hand, had a look that seemed almost sad. Sad to know the truth. He looked to me and said, "Why did you come here, son?"

I didn't say anything for a short moment. Finally, I said, "I'm an undersea explorer. I find and study physical remains found in the ocean. My team has been combing around Iceland recently, and we found some abnormalities in this area. I was sent down to assess a small idea of what was down here; if it would be a dead end search or not from a little bit of looking around. A lay of the land, I guess you could call it." I smiled halfheartedly. "I saw this place from higher up, and stopped considering everything. My team, my air... I just needed to know what this place was."

It was such a simple story. Such an innocent tale. They would sympathize with it, I knew. Just a man trying to understand that much more about the world he lived in.

They both just looked all the more desolate. Davis ran his hand down his face. "This place, it's not the way you think."

"I think it's Atlantis."

Clark gave a bitter chuckle. "Not Atlantis, son. Rapture."

"Rapture?"

Davis said, "That's what we call this place. See, Rapture is... well, it's _freedom_. We came to get away from big government and crippling societies and overbearing laws. It's the American dream, I guess, but the way it was originally supposed to be. And it's our secret from the world."

"Freedom, huh? You talk about this Ryan as though he were a baby Stalin, though."

Davis's face flushed. "Things aren't going well right now. Why's not really important; the gist is that we just can't risk anything while this is going on. We can't allow ourselves to be discovered. It would ruin everything we've ever worked for. Andrew Ryan, our leader, knows that more than anybody."

"So you figure I'm a liability to your amazing secret?" I was blunt and plain, hiding all of the fear that was making my heart beat faster by the minute. "So the only way to fix it is to kill me, right? I mean, that's the most obvious solution Mr. Ryan is going to go with, you think. Quick and dirty." I snapped my fingers, an action that made Davis wince. "Gone. Just like that."

Davis turned away and swore, slamming his fist to the wall. "There's got to be some other way!"

Clark went to his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. "There isn't, Eddie."

Davis shook his head. "If we turn him in, we'll never hear from him or about him again. That's the problem. He's too freaking anonymous..." Davis raised his head. "Wait a minute..."

Clark's eyes widened. "Davis?"

"He's too anonymous! That's the key! That's it!"

"What's it?" I asked, rising from the bed. I swayed from the dizziness, but gritted my teeth and stood tall.

"We'll turn you into Ryan, sure we will!" he looked at me with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "_After_ we make you a Rapture celebrity!"

"Wait, slow down," Clark looked beside himself. "What do you mean 'Rapture celebrity'?"

"This has never happened before, a guy just finding Rapture, Clark. All on his own! The public will eat it up."

"You want... to _publicize_ this guy?"

"Yes! He'll be city-famous in no time! Ryan can't make a guy like that just fade away like he never existed."

Clark regarded his friend as though he were going insane, then thought about the proposal. He looked at me, then at Davis, then me again. "It could work..." Clark began to laugh at the cleverness of it all. "It could actually work, you slimy little hoodlum." Clark slapped Davis on the back, who looked as joyful as a child at Christmas.

"How are you feeling, guy?" Davis came over to me. "The doc said you would make a full recovery, but not before getting a vicious migraine. But do you think you could feel alright enough to a little bit of a clean up?"

"Clean up?" I was dizzy from the pain and full of confusion.

"You have to be able to look good for the pictures. And we gotta get you back into that suit. Without the helmet, though, I think. People should see that you're just a man, beyond anything else."

"Sure," I nodded like an idiot. At that moment I would have agreed to dressing up like Shirley Temple. "Sure, whatever you say."

As long as I was a free man.


	3. Johnny Topside

**Chapter 2: Johnny Topside**

Randy Nolan was a newspaperman. There was little other way to describe him. He looked as though he had just stepped out of the pictures, like a Spencer Tracey, Carey Grant, or Jimmy Stewart. He was rarely without his hat, constantly tipped ever so slightly on his head, or a notebook. He spoke quickly and never without a point. He was as sharp and charming as his articles for the Rapture Tribune, and as honorable and truthful as a medieval knight. He had been dubbed numerous times as "Rapture's _true_ voice, without insincerity or candy-coating." Nolan always stuck with his ideas like glue and never put up with anything but the truth. He was his job, and proud of it.

Today, though, he was a newspaperman, and a friend.

Eddie Davis was one of his closest compatriots, the one person he had known on the surface. Randy loved him like a brother, and that morning he had mysteriously been called by him for a favor.

"Get over to Port Neptune, and bring a camera," was all Davis would tell him.

Well, Randy jumped at the chance of helping Davis out at all, and he had done Eddie one better. His best photographer, Elizabeth Holm, was with him. Randy was always captivated by her way of seeing everything in everything. She could read people in a second, and captured the emotion of anyone with a click of a button. She was more than just a photographer, she _was_ her camera.

That afternoon, as they were on the train to Neptune's Bounty, Liz was looking at Randy with a face drawn of curiosity and concern.

"So you have no idea what exactly this is?" she asked him.

Randy shrugged as he stared out the window into the ocean. "Eddie just gave me directions to a little part by the Fisheries. It's where the maintenance guys sleep sometimes when they have to stick by a leak recently repaired."

"Are you telling me they have to babysit a patch?"

"On the bottom of the ocean, you can never be too careful." Randy looked back at her. He smiled at her curly brown hair swirling down her cheeks, red and flushed beautifully. She was wearing his favorite dress—the one that fit around her snowy white shoulders and swayed with her hips when she walked in the graceful stride she did. She was so careful, even in her steps.

"What are you _staring_ at?" she met his eyes without question. She knew very well.

"It's been a while since I treated you to dinner, huh, Lizzy?"

She raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger at him. "Don't you try to change the subject, Mr. Nolan. You know I don't like this 'secret meeting' one bit."

"Ah, Liz," He leaned back in his seat across from her. "This could be a great scoop. Eddie isn't one to disappoint."

"Sure, it could be a great scoop," she shrugged. "But it could also be an invitation to his dismembered head collection."

Nolan laughed. "Who? Eddie? He couldn't hurt a fly! We were both in France during the first few years of the Recovery Plan after the war, and, Liz, you have never seen a human being more concerned for others like Eddie Davis was. He nearly starved himself with all the food he gave away and barely slept a wink as he worked himself to death. No, he would not have a dismembered head collection, not even of Hitler's SS troops themselves."

Holm did not look convinced. "I still don't like it. You know how much I hate surprises."

Randy leaned forward and motioned for her to do the same. "Yea? Try this one on for size." And kissed her lightly on her rose petal lips.

She fell back and gave him a good slap. "Randy Nolan! You should know better than to—oh! In a public place, no doubt!" She looked away from him as he rubbed his cheek. He grinned innocently. She could see the gentle blush of pleasure on her face.

Of course, Liz did have a point. He turned to see an older woman staring him down disapprovingly from across the car. Come on, he thought. This is _Rapture_. He shook his head and turned back to the window.

* * *

"Randy! How have you been?" Davis was bright and positive as he shook his friend's hand warmly.

"Just fine, Eddie. I—"

"We're a little confused, though," Liz interrupted their greeting, still cross.

Randy only smiled. "Liz Holm, meet Edward Davis."

"A pleasure," Davis's smile was the kind that lit up a room. His hair was chopped short, like it was when they were both in the army, and he was almost always clean and shaven. Nolan always wondered how it was someone like him could wind up on Rapture's maintenance crew. He could do so much better.

Davis said, "I actually have a surprise for you both. You two fine newspapermen will love it."

Nolan believed that Davis could sell just about anything, be it a rusty spoon or a designer shirt. And Nolan knew Davis well enough to tell when he was the one being sold.

"It'll be story of the year!" Davis was buzzing. "And you get the first look."

"C'mon, Eddie, get to the point. What's the scoop?" Randy pulled out his notebook.

"I guess you should just see for yourself." Davis led them down the hall to a room. He paused for a moment at the handle, smiled back at them, and opened it, not without a little flare.

For a moment, Nolan had no idea what he was looking at, and was about to chew out Davis for pulling his leg like this. Just a maintenance diver. What did he care? What did Rapture care?

But then he looked closer. The diver stood at the sight of the two reporters. Randy had seen quite a few maintenance divers, but he knew he had never seen this face before. He was relatively young, with hair nearly black and crystal blue eyes—eyes that held wariness and a fire in them. His lips were hard and jaw set in preparatory for the worst. Still, while the face was new to Nolan, it was the suit that made him realize the gravity of the situation. It was not the easily recognizable diving suit of Rapture maintenance, but a new one entirely. One that looked more advanced, at least five years ahead of their own.

Nolan's jaw dropped. A thousand questions popped into his head at once. One thing, however, was clear to him.

This man was not from was not from Rapture.

* * *

I watched the two strangers' expressions with anxiousness. The pattern was the same for both: annoyance, curiosity, disbelief, and, finally, horror.

The man stuttered, "Who... How... Eddie, what is this?"  
_This?_ This was not what I had hoped for. "I found Rapture," I said simply, "on my own."

"You, you just _found_ Rapture? Who just _finds_ a freaking city? Davis! When did this happen?"

Davis and I repeated my story to the man and woman hastily, feeling the air thicken by the moment.

"This... this is fantastic," the man shook his head, nearly speechless.

"And you get first dibs," Davis looked pleased with the male reporter's reaction.

Finally, the woman spoke, "And does Andrew Ryan know about this?"

We were both silent.

"Ah," she smiled in realization. "I see what this is."

"What what is?" the man asked, worry crossing his brow.

Davis started to speak, but the woman beat him to the punch. "You know as well as I do, Randy," she said, "how Andrew Ryan will react to this. He'll, in a perfect word, be very, very put off." She gestured to me. "This guy will be nothing but an empty diver's suit before he can say 'dead archeologist'."

"That's why you're here," Davis was solemn. "We need to make him more than just a guy in a suit. He needs to be unforgettable. Something Ryan can't just erase."

"So you want him made public before Ryan can get his hands on him," Randy nodded. "I see..."

Davis pleaded, "This man did nothing wrong. You know he doesn't deserve whatever it is Ryan will do. He deserves the Rapture Dream just like anyone. Please, Randy, if anyone could understand the importance of truth in this situation, it's you."

The silence only really lasted a minute or two, yet to me it felt like two years of my life were knocked down. I had enough time to contemplate what fate could be awaiting me if this reporter decided he didn't want to take the risk. I didn't want whatever it was awaited me with Andrew Ryan.

Finally, after a small eternity, Nolan said, "Yes, Eddie. You're right. And if, after I publish this story, Ryan thinks he can take this one without any trouble from the people, he's got another thing coming."

I felt my knees buckle underneath me in the extreme relief my heart felt. I fell onto the bed. "Th-thank you," I breathed out.

Nolan laughed. "With a face like that? You'll be a regular Frank Sinatra to the bobbysockers of Rapture in no time! But tell me, what do we call you?"

Davis jumped in on that one, "We can't have anything on him Ryan can use against him. He's here, that's all that matters. He's a new man in Rapture."

Nolan mused for a moment. "A new, free man, come down here all on his lonesome, just trying to make the Rapture Dream a reality. That's good. That's very good. And, you're right, we can't have Ryan dig up anything on his past to sway public opinion."

"John Topside."

We all turned to the woman, Holm. Her camera made a click at me. "His name is going to be, forever more, John Topside."

Nolan and Davis looked to me, and both nodded. Davis reached out his hand, "Good to meet you, Johnny." He smiled like he had known me all of his life.

Johnny Topside? I smiled inwardly. It had a nice ring to it. I reached out my own hand and shook Davis's.

"Johnny Topside," I repeated it aloud. Then laughed. Laughed like someone who hadn't laughed in a long, long time. I was a new man.

A new, free man.

Johnny Topside.

* * *

Author's Tiny Little Note to the Reader (you): It took a while to set everything into place properly, but now I can finally get that ball rolling. More to come very soon. **Please** review! A writer is only as good as the readers.


	4. Welcome to Rapture

**Chapter 3: Welcome to Rapture**

**Rapture Tribune **

**August 26th, 1958 ****Vol. 11 ISSUE 54**

**MEET JOHNNY TOPSIDE!**

PORT NEPTUNE—A new face has shown up in Rapture, in a diver's suit! Rapture Maintenance worker Gregory Parker on Saturday afternoon discovered an unconscious diver while repairing a leak outside of The Fighting McDonagh's Tavern. Thinking it was one of our own, Parker rescued the diver from possible suffocation due to lack of oxygen with the aid of fellow workers Dennis Clark and Edward Davis.

"I thought he was an ADAM slug at first, but when I realized the form was human, I knew we had to get him inside of Rapture.," said Parker.

"It's lucky that guy survived," remarked Clark. "That one's a fighter, he is."

The diver in question, nicknamed "Johnny Topside" by a local citizen (whose identity wishes to remain anonymous), had made it to Rapture in little more than the diving suit on his back.

Davis said, in regards to Topside, "Johnny seems to be the kind of man that knows what he wants and lets nothing stop him. Like Andrew Ryan, Rapture is a perfect place for someone like him."

for more, see **TOPSIDE**, page 5

* * *

Andrew Ryan slammed the newspaper down on his desk, the sound reverberating around his office. Anger, whole and without rest, had exploded through him, oozing from him an aura feared by his assistant and colleagues.

Bill McDonagh, his closest friend, was alone calm as he sat in front of Ryan's desk. "I understand you may be upset..."

"Upset, Bill? Upset is the emotion of some inane man losing his favorite hat. This? A foreigner in _my city!_ We've past upset, McDonagh, five minutes ago."

McDonagh chuckled. "You never were one to take things 'alfway."

"This is no joke, Bill! Do you have absolutely any idea who this man could be? This 'Johnny Topside'?"

"KGB wolf or CIA jackal? I've 'eard the rant, Mr. Ryan," even in rebuking Ryan, McDonagh was humble, Ryan noted with annoyance. "You need to relax. An episode won't get nothin' accomplished."

Ryan picked the paper and waved it in McDonagh's face. "Dennis Clark? Greg Parker? Edward Davis? Those are _your_ men. Why didn't they say anything about this before setting the press on it like a pack of wolves?"

McDonagh was gentle as he took the paper quietly and flipped through the pages. Finally, he revealed a different headline to Ryan:

**SECURITY FORCE CRACKS DOWN DEATH PENALTY FOR SMUGGLING, ANDREW RYAN GOING TOO FAR?**

"It may have somethin' to do with that, Mr. Ryan," McDonagh said with a sense of finality.

Andrew Ryan's voice was low and burning, "Are you saying you will offer no consequences for your workers actions? Or, rather, inactions?"

"I'm saying that you can't bloody well expect the boys to think you would roll out the welcome wagon for this man. They were just doing what they thought was right, and I ain't gonna be the one to stomp on their ideals. That's what we came down 'ere to avoid."

"You are correct in the term 'boys', but incorrect in the idea. I built this city to be free from the tyrant of big government, yes, but I am careful in who finds Rapture for a _reason_. KGB and CIA are not to be laughed at. If anything, they are to be dragged out and shot."

Ryan pulled out one of his cigarettes and lit it. McDonagh sighed. "Well, whether or not you like it, it's out. We have a new citizen." McDonagh smiled. "Why not welcome 'im in?"

* * *

I had sincerely thought I had picked a job that would be free from lying. What would I have to do as a military diver that involved major intelligence operations? One could barely _speak_ in the suit, much less need a full cover identity.

But then our vessels started disappearing.

It had made no sense. One moment, they were checking in, right on the dot, and the next they were gone. Not one country would take responsibility for it, not even Russia. No one could understand anything of what was going on, but there was one contributing factor. Always the radio life would die in the same basic area. And now I knew why.

Rapture.

I wished I didn't have to be here. I wished I didn't have to lie. I wished the extreme feeling of being a Brutus would go away. But the reality was I had come down here on a mission for my country. I had to stay. I had to realize the truth behind this place. Before more people just vanished off the face of the earth.

There had been a chosen few cripplingly frightening moments in my life. Even in my line of work, I could only count my most horrific moments of life on three fingers.

One, when I was twelve and my kid sister fell through iced over pond in our backyard on Christmas Eve. I remember the terror nearly paralyzing me. I had barely come to quick enough to dive into the water myself to help her out. She had only been three, and lost nearly lost all of her hearing on that day. I had never been so terrified, nor so protective over a single human being, before then.

Two, the day I was to be "sworn in." There had been so many rumors about it. The veterans loved to frighten us all during training. "They make you shoot your mother, or they shoot _you_," they would tell us a thousand times a day. I would laugh it off, trying not to be convinced by the fearsome glimmer in their eyes. In truth, there was no mother, not even a gun. Just an oath. A simple oath.

And third, the day I met Andrew Ryan.

I was getting a "grand tour" of sorts with Parker. Out of all of the men who've helped me, I liked him the best. He was young, barely even worth calling a man, with blonde hair he didn't seem to care enough to cut despite the fact that it was constantly spilling over his eyes. Yet, despite his lack of experience in almost all the aspects of life, he seemed the one most down to earth. He constantly had this look about him that suggested he understood much more than he let on. He listened more than he spoke, and when he did his words were always carefully thought out. He was a good companion that I appreciated above the others. He looked much smaller to me now as we walked, since I was still bulked up in the suit.

"I don't know how you can walk around in that thing," Greg remarked as we turned into... Fort Frolic, I thought.

"Nolan thinks it'll make me more noticeable." I tried to shrug, but that was nearly impossible in my suit.

"No worry about that."

He was right. I felt more like I was being paraded, rather than being toured. Every face looked my direction with fascination or even disgust.

Greg announced, "This is Fort Frolic. You want to shop, gamble, drink, or see a performance, it's all here. It's expensive, though. Nowadays, only the rich can afford any of Sander Cohen's shows. Most of the working class can only go to the Footlight Theater to catch a show. Sometimes we'll get some Cohen acts, but not often." He shrugged.

I frowned. "There seems to be quite a bit of division down here, if you ask me."

Greg looked at me like I had grown a second head. "Of course. You either make it in this town, or you don't. If you don't, you're pretty much screwed. But we all came here on a risk. We knew there's a price to _real_ independence. We had to accept that if we wanted it bad enough."

I looked around at the crowd, mostly women at this hour, with store bags full and makeup too thick, gossiping and gawking at me, mostly. High society. I said to Greg, "But what about the people who can't pay that debt?"

Parker sighed. "Everything has to have a price. But come on, Johnny. I'll take you to see the debtors, if you're so inclined."

"Where's that?"

"Apollo Square."

I was ready to follow him, completely fascinated, but it was then Davis appeared, looking flushed and out of breath.

"Jeez, Eddie!" Parker declared. "You run all the way here?"

"Shaddup," he barked, much sharper than he had meant for it to come out. "Johnny, we have a problem."

I groaned. "_Another?_"

"Andrew Ryan wants to see you in his office."

Nine words. It took only nine words to make my blood run cold. Nine words to make me lightheaded and my world spin. Nine simple words.

Andrew Ryan wanted to see me in his office.

* * *

Randy Nolan leaned back in his seat, feeling pleased with himself. The article was out, and it was being talked about like no other story he'd written. This was good. Very good. Johnny was looking to be in the clear now, safe from Andrew Ryan's wrath, and Randy may even receive a lovely bonus from his editor for this piece. He kicked his feet up beside his typewriter lethargically, covering his eyes with his hat. The Tribune seemed completely empty. A nice nap would be just fine for him. Everything was just right.

"Well, look at this kid here," a voice exploded in Randy's ear causing him to jump up and nearly fall out of his chair. Nolan looked to see Stanley Poole smiling down at him.

Stan was one of the best writers to date in Rapture, certainly the best paid. Andrew Ryan loved him, Randy knew. Poole knew how to get what the people wanted without ever painting Ryan in a bad light. Randy frowned at the thought. Poole fed the people what they wanted to hear, but rarely was it ever the truth. He was like the mother that would always pat you on the head, give you a cookie, and tell you everything would be alright until the house came down around your ears. Nolan was more like the big brother that called it like he saw it. And Poole hated him for it.

"Saw your story. Not bad, kid," Poole smiled at him.

"Uh, thanks," Randy straightened his hat.

"Yea, I mean, I was looking over it and uh, it's a pretty nice little _story_. You know, good for a read right before bed. Nice, sweet, really heartwarming. Fuzzy feelings and all. I especially love, what was it? 'A classic example of one man making the Rapture Dream a reality.' Always gets me. Nice little fairy-tale like article."

Nolan glared at Poole. "What are you getting at?"

The smile vanished from Poole's face. "What I'm getting at is it seems just a little too good to be true. How much do you really know about this 'Johnny Topside'?"

Randy stood, meeting Poole eye to eye. "I know he's a guy like you or me, except he didn't get the full bathysphere treatment."

Poole laughed. "That's the _only_ difference you really see, Nolan? Come on, take another look." Poole pulled the newspaper out of his back pocket and made a show of staring at the picture of Johnny. "You know, this suit don't look like some sweet history geek's divin' suit. Almost looks like... like it's _armor _of some kind."

Nolan snatched the paper from Poole. "I don't know what you're trying to do here, Stanley, but I'm thinking you'd better leave me alone for a while. Or we may have a problem."

Poole raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, hey, I was just making a little observation." He laughed again and shook his head. "Randy Nolan, always seeing the best in everything. People ain't always so candy-coated as you make 'em out to be, compadre. One day, you're gonna wake up with a knife in the back and wonder where it was you went wrong." And, with that, Poole left the office.

Nolan stood numbly for a moment. He glanced at the paper in his hand. Liz's photo of Johnny Topside stared back at him.

Armor of some kind? Randy shook his head and tossed the paper in his wastebasket.

* * *

Hephaestus was something to be admired. I probably could have stood gaping at the intricacy forever. Red tinged every surface as the lava flowed through the pipes. It encircled the corners, met the edges, and set your eyes to the main core at the center. The machine was larger than life, it's height stretching high above my head. My eyes widened at the bulk of _everything_ in Hephaestus. The importance of all that was surrounding me could almost be felt.

Davis saw my face and laughed. "Quite a site, huh? This here, buddy, is Rapture's heart and soul. All of our power comes from the geothermal control here. This is also the offices of some of our biggest names."

"Andrew Ryan?"

"Andrew Ryan."

The walk there was quiet, allowing me to imagine my meeting with Ryan in full detail. My heart thudded inside the suit. "I hate this awful suit," I muttered to myself for no real reason at all.

Once outside _his_ office, we were approached by a young, pretty blonde woman looking none too happy. "Davis. Parker. With me. _Now_."

Davis smiled. "Kate! You're looking lovely today. That murderous glint in eyes suits you beautifully! Have you met Johnny?"

"I said _now_!"

Davis shrugged complacently. "Come on, Greg. Madame Guillotine awaits. Sorry, Johnny, looks like you're going in solo. We've got another lion to tame."

My heart skipped a beat as I started to protest, "But—"

Greg gave me a last, fleeting glance behind. "You'll be fine. Just close your eyes and think of... Marylin Monroe or something."

Close my eyes and think of Marilyn Monroe...?

"Mr. Ryan will see you now Mr... er, Mr. Topside."

* * *

Andrew Ryan followed the stranger's movements as he entered with his eyes. The man had a presence about him that was apparent even to Ryan. He was still wearing the same cursed suit from the picture in the paper, returning the feelings of the morning meeting with McDonagh. But Ryan swallowed his anger down. He would be satisfied soon enough.

Ryan forced out a friendly demeanor as he said, "Please, have a seat," he gestured to the chair from across his desk.

Johnny Topside—no. Ryan refused the name rising in his mind. This man was not some mascot of Rapture. He would not allow it. The stranger, he didn't know his real name, approached him looking as frightened as a child fearing a punishment. He let out his hand, "Hello, Mr. Ryan. It's good to meet you."

Ryan's lips curled in contempt. The one before him looked no more pleased to meet him as he would have been pleased to meet Joseph Stalin. Ryan continued to regard the man slowly, tracing the man's features with his eyes, waiting for him to begin to squirm. Finally, after he had made a short, tortured age for the stranger, Ryan took his hand firmly and shook it. "Take a seat," he repeated the command.

Once the man was settled, Andrew Ryan began, "So, you have been here for a few days now, what do you think of my city? After all," he chuckled, "you have seen a much more...unique angle than most who come here."

"It's...beautiful," the stranger stammered with as much dignity as he could muster. "I've never seen a place like this. I'm almost sorry I didn't find it at night. Just the way that it lit up from above...it was, well, pretty amazing to see, Mr. Ryan."

Ryan frowned slightly. He rose and began to pace in a calm, yet thinking manner as he said, "You know, you were not able to hear the welcoming speech. Most who come down here are completely aware of what this city is before actually making it down here. You, however, seemed to have 'missed the boat' of sorts."

The stranger raised an eyebrow as Ryan continued, "I have a question for you, son. Do you think a man is entitled to the sweat of his brow?"

"Of course, sir."

"What about the poor? What about God? What about _everyone_? Do they not deserve a cut of your profits? Do they not deserve to take what they can take from you until you are nothing a hollowed shell? What of them? Tell me, friend. You seem like quite an expert on how to deal with people."

The stranger looked frightened by the sudden surge of energy in Ryan's voice, something Ryan scarcely was aware of, yet cared little about. "I—" he tried to reason with Ryan.

But Andrew Ryan was quickly losing any amount of couth he had had before the meeting. He interrupted the man mid-sentence and asked another question, "Who is _entitled _to my city? Who _deserves_ the beauty I have created? Do you, _Johnny Topside_?" the name slimed out of his mouth like acid. "Answer me, boy!"

Johnny Topside was suddenly very sure he wanted to get out of this room. "No, Mr. Ryan. Of course not! I just—"

But Ryan raised a hand, stopping him again. The silence dwindled in the room like a soft cloth, ready to choke Johnny to death. Finally, Ryan moved to the back of Johnny's chair, leaving Johnny to worry if he should expect a knife in the back at any time.

"You may have my city dazzled, Mr. Topside," Ryan burned, his mouth close to Johnny's ear. "But I know who you are. _What_ you are. This is my city. And not you, not the U.S., not the U.S.S.R, not even the hells of the atom bomb itself will take it from me. No matter what, _this is_ _my_ _city_. I don't care what I have to do to protect it. Do you understand that?"

Johnny's heart was racing. "Yes. Yes sir."

Suddenly pleased, Ryan patted Johnny's shoulder. "That's just fine, Mr. Topside. You may go now."

Johnny nearly knocked over his chair getting up, mumbled a disheveled goodbye, and quickly started toward the door, his boots making an embarrassingly loud clunking noise.

"Oh, Johnny? One more thing..." Ryan looked to the diver, already one foot out the door. Johnny stopped and barely gave a glance over his shoulder as Ryan concluded, "Welcome to Rapture."

* * *

Author's Super Special Awesome Note (yep, still to you): Special thanks to **Fire Nerbil** for helping me bounce off ideas and for the reviews. Also, thanks to **jschneids** for his review. Next chapter coming, please review.


	5. Aesthetics

**Chapter 4: Aesthetics**

"You didn't have to do all of this."

Randy looked at me and laughed. "Of course I did. You're the only reason I can pay my rent this month, pal. I figure a night of celebration is the least I could do."

"But all the stuff you got for me?"

"Listen, you can't think you're going to be able to run around in that suit all the time. You needed clothes, and you're quite the big boy, you could hardly expect me to loan you anything of mine. And you had to get a toothbrush, and a razor, and everything. You're starting a life down here, Johnny, you need a little push on your way up that ladder."

"I still think this is unnecessary. A suit?"

Davis suddenly appeared beside me, his ever present self, placing a hand on my shoulder in a sign of friendship. "Topside, tonight we're going to paint the town red. You gotta look the part."

The two men stepped back and surveyed me as a mother would before sending her son off to school. Nolan made a frame with his hands and held them up to his eyes, staring out at me. I had to admit to myself it felt great to be clean dressed nicely in a good tux. But then again, out of the diving suit, I would have been happy in waders. "Yep," Randy concluded. "You look like you practically _belong_ in Kashmir."

"Kashmir?"

"Yea," Davis grabbed his coat, slipping it on. "It's one of the best restaurants in Rapture. Amazing steaks. We ready to head out?"

"Right behind you," Nolan grabbed his hat. "I've gotta pick up Liz, but I'm taking a bathysphere, so it should be quick. I'll meet you there."

"Nice to afford private transportation, ain't it?" Davis grinned in mock jealousy.

"Don't worry, buddy, you'll get a turn to ride soon enough. See you both there." With that, Nolan exited.

Davis shook his head and looked to me as he said, "Quite a guy, huh?"

"I'll say."

Davis fit on his own hat. "What do you think of my apartment, Johnny?"

I glanced around the apartment. It was nice, strange for a maintenance worker, but I had a feeling Davis had more authority over his peers than he let on. "Why do I have a feeling this is going somewhere charitable?" I asked with suspicion.

Davis frowned in offense. "Not charity. You're going to be sleeping on the couch. Ain't nothing charitable about that thing. That, and you're going to be working for me."

"Davis, I—"

"Look, Johnny, in this town, you either make it, or you don't..."

"You're the second person today who's said that to me."

"...And after all we've done for you, you can't make us watch you wind up in the Pauper's Drop with no way out."

"The what? Look—"

"And you've already got the suit. You'll be just fine working with us, until you find your place here, at least."

"Davis!"

"What?"

"Thank you. For saving my life. For the job. For everything."

Davis, expecting more debate, looked lost for a moment. Finally, he smiled. "Don't mention it, Johnny. You're practically one of us now. Let's go."

I nodded, my heart warmed. Yet, despite the gratitude I felt, a knot formed in my stomach. I can't stay here, I wanted to confess to him, here and now. I have to find the truth, then I have to leave.

What was he going to think when I left? What were they all going to think? I didn't want to think about it.

I sighed and followed Davis out the door as we walked to the Atlantic Express.

"So, how did your meeting with Ryan go? You haven't said a word about it."

"How did your meeting with O'Mally go?"

Davis laughed. "I guess you could say she was very put out. She said she didn't like that we went behind her back, but I think she's just upset she got a scolding from McDonagh." He shrugged.

"That, and that she's your ex."

Davis stopped in his tracks. "You don't miss a thing, do you?"

"It's not hard to pick up."

"Yea, well, 'hell hath no fury', and so on."

"I'm sorry you're getting flack because of me."

"Johnny, I'd be getting flack no matter what." And we both fell silent, him possibly reflecting. I was relieved he had forgotten his question.

In truth, the meeting with Andrew Ryan had left me terrified, the very mention of him giving me a suppressed shudder. I knew that had been what he had intended to happen, too. Leave me scared without any such desire of fulfilling my objective. How he could see through me like a a window I didn't know; personally, I wouldn't have attributed it to much more than pure paranoia. But even with the terror of Andrew Ryan's threats, I knew I had to find out what had happened to those vessels. And, if my theories were proven true, I had to find a way to warn any further wanderers. Or they would disappear, too.

This couldn't be about me. It would be so easy to accept Rapture as my home and to remain blissfully ignorant to it's dark secrets. But I couldn't ignore those gone. I had to do this. For my country. For my home.

* * *

Davis had been right: the steaks at the Kashmir were absolutely delicious. Along with Nolan, Davis, and Liz, Parker had also tagged along. When I had asked about Clark, Davis laughed (as he always seemed to do) and said, "The man's gotta be one of the poorest snobs I've ever met. Said something, when I asked, about how he'd rather dine in the ocean than eat here with a bunch of rich— well, you can imagine.

After dinner, we all went to Fort Frolic to see the famous Sander Cohen everybody had been buzzing to me about. Before the show, we stood by the entrance of the Fleet Hall, looking at the posters of upcoming events. Liz stopped when her eyes met a advertisement of the Rapture New Year's Masquerade Ball, 1959.

When Nolan saw her, he looked to the poster himself and chuckled. "Advertising already? It's not even September."

"Hey, it's one of the only holidays we _can_ advertise for. Since God's not _allowed_ down here, New Year's is one of the only day of the year without religious meaning behind it."

Randy frowned. "I don't agree, Liz. It's not that religion isn't allowed down here, it just can't hold any power over us anymore. I mean, that Wales brother is allowed to preach all he wants, just in the comfort of his own little steeple.

Here Parker added, "Not so much. I've been to 'Father Wales's' sermons, and, trust me, that guy's more for Karl Marx than he is Jesus Christ."

"Okay, fine, but still..."

Feeling as though I have lost any hope of understanding this conversation in the slightest, I turned my attention over to the passers by. The crowd looked much like it had this morning, only now the women were in thousand dollar ball gowns, with men linked to their sides. Still, the picture was more or less the same, and the same amount of uneasiness came over me. Something seemed very wrong here. I looked closer. They were the typical upper class, as far as I could tell. Many women were gossiping, gentlemen were flirting with multiple ladies, some men huddled together discussing business... what was wrong with the picture?

Then I realized. They, save a chosen few, were all _beautiful_. Each one held perfect symmetry: in face, in height, in weight, in all. Yet, there was something artificial about them. They had a picturesque beauty, of course, but that was just it. They almost didn't look quite human in their perfection. Their feature looked more as though they fit more on a pedestal, made of bronze or marble. They were plastic. Like an imitation diamond necklace, they were fair, but fake.

Disturbed by this sudden revelation, it was almost a relief to see a beggar man appear at the entrance of the fleet hall. I watched him cry out to the passing aristocrats, pleading for any spare change.

"Please," he beseeched them. "Just a bit of change. Just enough to use a restroom."

What alarmed me was not the beggar, but the response of the beggar. And that was, nothing. They looked right passed him, even as he nearly fell at their feet. That seemed the most frightening of all. Not that they refused to help, but that they refused to acknowledge his existence entirely.

I was about to step in myself, when the beggar was finally noticed. A man looked down at him and listened to his pleas. The man, himself, was relatively young, tall, and slim, wearing a dark suit and with another artificial looking woman by his side. His head was completely shaven, with a faint moustache above his lips. He had a strong demeanor about him, leaving one feeling a strong sense of respect of him. He listened attentively to the old beggar, smiled in an immediately trusting way, and pull out his wallet. The beggar's eyes lit up with utter joy at the generous amount handed to him. The giver said something in a low voice to the beggar, and pulled out his card. The beggar nodded fervently, as though agreeing to something, and hurried away, shouting out multiple times, "Thank you, Mr. Fontaine! Thank you!"

I was so consumed in the scene playing out before me, I barely noticed when a hand tugged on my arm. "Come on, Johnny," Parker said. "Let's get a seat."

I nodded and trailed behind him, glancing back one last time to the man, but he was gone.

The show began, and I quickly forgot about the revelations I had made about this place. Sander Cohen, I saw, was famous for a reason. The play rolled through with elegance and wonder; the music, the acting, the story itself. I was left captivated.

At least, until intermission.

The fourth scene had just been completed. The curtains started going down. Everyone was ready to rise and exit the theater for more wine or food. Then _it_ came.

It appeared in average clothing, although dirty. It had on a wicker mask that kept any facial features from being revealed. At first, I thought it was part of the show, but I was quickly proven wrong.

It must have stolen a microphone, because it had one, ready to go, in it's hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" It announced in a deep, dramatic voice. "I have come to show you the truth! Why do you waste all or your time with such silly parlor tricks? Why do you allow your dreams to be limited? You waste your time with cosmetic surgery and mere body boosts, but there are so much to be experienced! We, the Saturnine, invite you all to discover _true_ power! Harness the flame! Harness the mist!"

And with that, the strange being raised its arms theatrically, and the curtains were consumed in flame.

Panic erupted around me, I stood to watch as the thing laughed. Everywhere, there were screams and cries and curses. One word, however, was on everyone's lips.

Splicer. I didn't know what it meant, but I knew it was bad. Very, very bad.

I should have focused on getting out of the theater, but I was suddenly engrossed. I watched as two men approached the "Saturnine" thing, crying out that they were part of Rapture Security, and to surrender. In their hands were revolvers. The Saturnine, however, merely laughed, raised a single hand to one of officers, and snapped it's fingers. In an instant, one of the officers was gone. In his place, fire and agonized screams.

The other officer gave no more chances. He shot two bullets at the Saturnine's chest, and a single shot between his eyes. The act was all that was needed to make the being fall, it's mask flying off of his face. As it fell, I caught a glimpse of his face, and my stomach lurched.

It wasn't a face. It was nothing but white face paint, sores, and deformities.

I had never a seen a more haunting site.

We were all silent in the bathysphere ride for home. No one felt much like speaking after the site we had seen. Finally, Davis said, "Well, Johnny, I think it's about time we told you about ADAM."

I could tell I was in for quite the explanation.

* * *

Stanley Poole stood in Sander Cohen's office after the disastrous show, trying desperately to get a statement from the nearly hysterical artist. Poole held an Acu-Vox in his hand, but he was beginning to believe that he would never see a need for it.

"Now, Mr. Cohen, have there been any previous threats from the cult toward your theater prior to tonight?" Poole asked for the fifth time.

"Oh, my beautiful show! On opening day, of all days! No one will come now, you see. It's name has been forever soiled!"

"Mr. Cohen, please," Poole was very quickly losing any amount of patience he had. "I just need these questions answered, and you can get back to crying over your pallet, or whatever it is you artist types do to cope."

Cohen gave Poole a look that would have made Adolf Hitler take a step back. Poole immediately tried to reconcile, "I'm sorry, Mr. Cohen. I just meant—"

"What you meant is that you don't give a crap about any of this. Well, screw you! Screw all of you doubters! Get out of my office!"

Poole inwardly slapped himself for his stupidity. "Maybe we should talk later..."

"OUT!"

Poole stalked out of the Fleet Hall, staring at his Acu-Vox. Maybe if he used the few short comments from Cohen to piece together something of worth...

Two young, attractive women stepped by him. "Oh, did you see Johnny Topside today at the show? He's sooo..."

"Oh, yes! You'd have to blind not to notice someone like _him_."

Stanley frowned. Spliced up cult members had attacked them just that evening, and all the girls could think about was how handsome Johnny Topside was. This story Poole had would have been great on any other day. But, now that Topside was in town, Poole would never be able to compete. His article tomorrow would be ready to be incinerated by lunchtime.

Poole threw the audio diary into the garbage can. Let some other nobody cover this story.

Stanley Poole had bigger fish to fry.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks to my reviewers, **jschneids,** **Fire Nerbil, crazymike 98 **and **ZomRomCom** (this time I spelled it right) for their epic-ness! To everyone else, feedback is always appreciated.


	6. Best Left Buried

**Chapter 5: Some Secrets Are Best Left Buried**

I laid awake for what felt like hours. Davis snored. Loudly. It could be heard from his bedroom all the way to the living room where I was supposed to be asleep. But it was not him that kept me awake; I'd bunked with up to a dozen men in a submarine's quarters before. I could easily tune him out. It was the city itself that kept me awake. I thought of all I had learned tonight.

ADAM. It was...impossible. Completely and totally impossible. The power of the hydrogen bomb at your disposal. It was incredible.

Incredible. Impossible. Terrifying.

What was I supposed to do now? How do you fight an enemy that can move things with their minds and summon the fires of hell, all without even breaking a sweat? I couldn't even hope to stand a chance against that.

Grimly, I sat up, rubbing the back of my neck. It was cold down here, so far below the surface. Below the sun. The breeze. Why is it I missed it all now? I would spend months and months away from it all while on my expeditions. Why was it so different this time? I sighed. I felt trapped here. Ryan's anger had made me feel like a bug ready to be squashed. I wanted to get out of here, before his fly swatter came down around me.

I thought of my sister. I called out to her in my thoughts. It helped my psyche, I think. _Where are you now?_ I asked her, knowing full well I would get no answer._ I haven't seen you in forever. Are you still with **him**? What if he proposes to you while I'm away? What if you get married while I'm stuck in this place? Jeez, sweetie, what happened to the little girl I had pulled out of the icy water, soaked to the bone and terrified? You had clung to me like I was your whole world. I miss you so much. You're the reason I'm the fighter I am. I love you, sis. Wherever you are, know that I'm going to see you again._

I had been on this case for too long. I needed to go home.

"You're starting a life down here, Johnny..."

Johnny Topside was a dream, Nolan. It's someone I could never be.

Maybe I couldn't take on Rapture. I rose from the couch as I made my resolve. But that was why I wasn't going to get caught.

* * *

As I made my way to the Rapture Tribune, I wondered if Nolan would think of what I was about to do in comparison to stomping on hallowed ground and peeing in the corner of the confession booth. I supposed, when he found out, he wouldn't be thinking so much about the building itself at all. Only how I had betrayed him. Only how he had stuck his neck out for me and how I had just chopped it off myself.

But I tried not to think about that. I started to hope. Hope that maybe those vessels and ships and submarines had not even found Rapture. Hope that all of our calculations had been incorrect, and that this place was just a peaceful city, wishing to be secret from the rest of the world for fear of tyranny. Yea, maybe that was all it was. I just kept thinking of anything to keep my mind away from the awful truth I was afraid to expose. Everything I wanted so badly to avoid seeing.

The Tribune was a building like most of the others in Rapture. On the outside, I could see it's neon signs glowed with all of the flashiness of the world. Now that I was down here, I wondered how Rapture _hadn't_ been discovered sooner. The building itself was tall—it housed all of the Rapture newspapers, and at this late at night, all of the lights were were out. Making my way inside, I saw there were desks all around, with worn and obviously used typewriters on each desk. Scattered papers and unkempt file organizers were an average sight. It looked completely empty. I sighed with relief at that discovery. I had never been good at sneaking.

From the entrance, I scanned the offices for the publisher's. The door to it was locked. Okay. I knew how to pick a lock, but what I worried about was breaking the lock entirely. That would leave quite a trail of me. I knew I might as well carve "Kilroy was here" into the door. I swiped a paper clip from a desk. There was only one way to see.

After ten minutes of picking, the door opened, and I let out another breath of relief.

Until I found the safe inside the office.

I knew what I was looking for would be in that safe. I let out a long groan, forgetting my need of stealth at that moment of frustration, and surveyed it. The safe looked like a normal one, yet there was something new to it. It looked like a special seal held the lock shut. I looked to the side, and noticed the panel was nipped from the edge, like a tile on a floor that hadn't been placed properly. With my fingertip, I pulled at the nip until the side panel fell completely off. My eyes widened. Inside were dozens of small pipes, some being used and some not. A group of pipes had formed a maze from across, blue liquid running through part of it. I gathered this was a way of for the seal to remain locked, by keeping the liquid from making it all the way across until the correct code was entered. Which meant that if I formed a connection manually between one side and the other, removing the single obstruction stopping the liquid from flowing freely...

An almost happy, perky _dink_ came from the safe, and it opened. I cheered silently. Inside the publisher's safe I may find the answers I was looking for.

Inside of the safe, there were two full, neat files. One was labeled FONTAINE, the other RYAN. I pulled them both out carefully, not wanting to spill the papers so compactly fitted inside the files. I looked in the FONTAINE file first. The name struck a chord dimly in my head, but I couldn't remember from where. Inside the file, I found on top a sheet of paper of multiple calculations, one that looked to be of a budget. By it, I found a lone reel-to-reel audio tape, labeled _Negotiations_. I only had to look in two drawers before I found a tape player in the publisher's desk. The idea of playing a tape for all to hear made me nervous, but I allowed it to play, nevertheless.

A rough male voice was the first I heard. "Do you really have to record dis?" he asked, both in annoyance and in nervousness.

"This is _my _negotiation, we will do things _my_ way. And I want records of this conversation." This came from a thin, clear voice. Also male.

"Fine. Whatever. What's yer price?"

"That depends, doesn't it? How much does Fontaine want this evidence my reporters have scrounged up to remain out of the public's hands?"

I flipped through the pile as I listened. Most were pictures from an angle that definitely suggested the camera had been hidden. They all had the same common scene: the same man snapping orders to men hauling heavy crates. It was then I recognized the face, from the man I had seen from the Fleet Hall outside of Sander Cohen's show—the one that had helped the beggar. I wondered how someone like him could be involved with anything illegal.

The tape continued, the gruff man saying, "You know Fontaine is willing to pay whatever you ask."

I clicked off the tape. Corruption was interesting, of course, and I would be sure to relay what I had heard onto Randy, but that was not what I was looking for. I returned the FONTAINE file and it's contents back into the safe, moving onto the RYAN file.

Fontaine's file may have been interesting, but Ryan's file looked like one straight out of the _Enquirer_. I flipped through multiple conspiracy theories and flimsy stories, desperate to find something of worth. Finally, I found what I had been looking for: multiple sonar scans of what fit the description of my missing vessels, obviously stolen from the source. With it, I found multiple tapes, each labeled _Radio Communications_ with various frequencies that had been used. I recognized the names of the ships labeled. I reeled one into the tape player. It began to play:

"This is Admiral Potts of the United States Navy. Identify yourself."

The response was cool, "My name is Andrew Ryan, Admiral. How are you today?"

"We are picking up several masses from sonar. Who are you people?"

"We? We are all individuals, Admiral. Who are you?" Ryan sounded amused.

"Is this some kind of Russian fleet?" The Admiral was starting to sound more and more nervous. "Surrender now. Come up to the surface. We can discuss this."

"I'm afraid that is not possible, Admiral. The surface offers nothing to us anymore." Returning to his original question, Ryan said, "I know who you are, Admiral. You are the State. You are God. You are the Tyrant. You believe you deserve your share from us, don't you, Admiral?"

"Oh, my..." it was obvious the Admiral had made a revelation. "You're not a fleet. You're a _city_."

"Well, Admiral," Ryan continued as though the Admiral had never spoken. _"Rapture is one thing you will never take!"_

Another voice was overheard, "Sir! We are being targeted! Sir, they've got torpedoes!"

"Pull back!" the Admiral ordered. "Pull—"

The rest was filled with bloodcurdling screams, then nothing but static.

The tape stopped playing.

I couldn't move for a long time. Finally, with a trembling hand, I pulled the reel back out, and put it inside my coat pocket. I tried to steady myself enough to put the things back, but it just would not return to it's normal, neat state. I didn't care anymore. I closed the safe again, replaced the paneling, and returned it to it's spot. I was so frightened, so out of it, that of course I didn't notice the security camera I had been so careful to avoid on the way in.

Rapture had indeed held dark secrets. Every single ship, vessel, sub, and... man in a diving suit, had disappeared without a single trace.

I now knew I would never see the sun again.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know, short chapter. Next one coming soon, but I know it'll be faster if you review! Thanks to **Fire Nerbil **and** jschneids **for the review last time around. Trust me when I say this story would not be still drawing breath without you guys.


	7. Never Surrender

**Chapter 6: Never Surrender**

"Johnny! Wake up!"

I wasn't sure at what point I had fallen asleep. I suppose the repose had come with the acceptance of my fate, like a cancer patient with only days to live. Regardless, I had been locked in a dreamless slumber, almost an escape of reality, when Nolan shook me awake.

"Randy!" I heard Davis exclaim. "What are you doing?"

"Saving this moron's life. Again!" Nolan shook me again. "Come on, Johnny! You've got to get up! We've got to get out of here!"

I opened my drooping eyes. Nolan's eyes were ones that fit a protective mother bear. "What..." I started to ask, knowing why it was that he was here for full well.

"Come on, Johnny! Get your suit on and let's get out of here!"

Davis grabbed Nolan's shoulder and whirled him around. "What is _wrong_ with you, Randy?"

"They've already been to my house. They're coming here next."

"_Who?_"

"Ryan's men! They're coming and they're not asking questions."

"What do they want?"

"What do you think? Topside!"

"Randy, you have to slow down! Why are Ryan's men coming for Johnny?"

"Because _he_," Randy jabbed his thumb to me, "was caught on tape breaking into _my_ publisher's office last night!"

Davis looked at me. "You did what?"

Randy said, "All Ryan needs is a little excuse to send Topside to hell and you know it! Well, now he's got breaking and entering and who knows how he'll be able to build up from that!"

Davis looked speechless. "Why...?"

"Right now, I could care less. Help me get him out of here or he's as good as dead."

It took both of them and five minutes to get me back into my diving suit, why I needed it I didn't understand. Randy almost had to pull me out the door, instructing Davis to remain at the apartment to keep Ryan's men at bay. The last I saw of Davis was him standing by the doorway, that look of brotherly concern on his face.

"There's no use," I said quietly.

"Stop talking like that, Topside!" Randy was halfway to the bathysphere station, dragging me along with him. The streets were nearly empty at the early morning hour on a Saturday. "You're getting out of here, do you understand me? I know a place where we'll be safe for at least little while. Come on!"

I just repeated, "There's no use."

Randy spun around, gave me a good hard look, and then I was on the floor. I hadn't seen the sucker punch coming, and it had hit my slagging, unsuspecting body hard. I was shocked, my eyes wide, staring up at him as he said, "Give me that crap again, Johnny. Go ahead. I dare you. Do you have any idea what you've done? You come down here, let us trust you, befriend you, care about you. And then what? You make us watch you die? Was that what this was about? You're a selfish one, Johnny Topside, if you think you can get away with toying with us like that."

I was horrified. "Randy, no. No, I'm..."

"Then get up. Get up and keep fighting. Or you can die a narrow minded coward." He let his hand out for me. "It's your choice, Johnny. How badly do you want your freedom?"

I sucked in a breath of air, and took his hand firmly. "Enough to take on a city," I answered, and, for the first time in a while, I was completely honest with my answer.

* * *

_"Right now, I could care less. Help me get him out of here or he's as good as dead."_

Davis was struck hard. Hadn't he used those same words to Clark when they had found Johnny suffocating at he bottom of the ocean? Why was Johnny deliberately choking himself now?

Davis shook his head. It didn't matter. He had a job to do now. He was going to keep Ryan's men distracted long enough for Johnny to get to a safe place with Randy. Until then, Davis wouldn't waste his time guessing Johnny's motives for doing anything. He dressed into an outfit that suggested he was planning on having a relaxed Saturday morning, like nothing had happend, tuned the radio to Rapture Radio, and poured himself a cup of coffee. For a while, all was quiet, and Davis listened to the morning news without incident.

But the knock on the door had to come eventually. What would happen after, he didn't know. He knew only that he had to take care of the people he was responsible for. And he was responsible for Johnny. When you save a life, you gained the albatross. He knew that. In France, he had had to learn that the hard way. Now, Edward Davis would not allow himself to fail. He would accept death first.

Over the radio, Bing Crosby began to sing, complacent and unaware of the tragedy unfolding to the man listening:

_"When skies are cloudy and grey_

_they're only grey for day_

_so wrap your troubles in dreams_

_and dream your troubles away..."_

The rap on the door followed soon after.

* * *

As it turned out, one of the safest places in Rapture was it's most crowded area on a Saturday morning. The Grand Carnival was just a little more flashy than everywhere else in Rapture. There were blinking signs on every wall, stall, and ride. It was easy to get lost, and here, I was just another attraction.

"Look, Mommy! It's Johnny Topside!" a little boy with bleach blonde hair pointed a stubby finger at me. He broke from his mother and ran over to my feet, staring at me with wonder. "Woah! Mr. Topside, you're my hero!"

"Billy Parson!" the mother ran after her son and scooped him into her arms. "I'm so sorry, sir," she apologized.

"It's fine, ma'am," I smiled at the bold child. "Don't ever lose your ability to say what you think, okay, kid?" I winked at him. "Even if it's to tell a pretty girl you like her."

The mother frowned at that, and hurried away. Nolan looked at me and smiled. "Come on. We don't have time to meet your adoring fans. Soon this whole thing will be out and they'll be ready to turn you into Ryan without a second thought."

I nodded, not without a little sadness, and followed him through the crowd.

The stall for the shooting gallery was a larger one than the rest, and had a special area of it's own where the spare guns and parts were kept. The stall vendor owed Nolan a favor, so we came to cash it in. I sat huddled in the little room, separated from the world, with Nolan. At last, he sighed, and the toll the morning had been on him now plain on his face. "Why did you do it, Johnny?" he asked the question I knew had been burning him.

Now it was my turn to sigh. "I'm not who you think I am. I didn't just _find_ Rapture. I went looking for it." I looked to see Randy looking surprised and even a little wounded, but I continued. I told him everything: my name, my job, my mission...all of the truths I had been keeping from him and the others. Finally, I concluded with two simple words, "I'm sorry."

Nolan was silent for a long time. "Okay," he finally said, "so you're not an archeologist. So what?"

I looked at him like he had just said he had been sleeping with my wife. "What do you mean, 'so what'? I'm a spy! A liar! A government type! I'm everything Ryan warns you about day in and day out! I'm the enemy of everything you built and you say 'so freaking _what'_?"

"Easy, Johnny."

"_That's not my real name_!"

"Easy! Listen, I call you Johnny because that's who you are now. I say 'so what' because how you found Rapture doesn't matter. Look at yourself, Johnny. Rapture means something to you now. I can see it in your eyes. It's become something you _want_ to become your home, but you won't accept it. Why? Because you're held down by duty. That's why Rapture was built, Johnny. To set people free."

"Yea? Is that what Rapture offered to the vessels gone missing? Freedom?"

"I don't know what happened to those."

"Well, I do." I pulled out the tape that held the last moments of Admiral Potts and his crew. "See this? This is proof that Ryan has been destroying anything and everything that finds Rapture without his _consent_. He kills them all, Randy. No survivors. No story to tell. Maybe a new legend about a second Bermuda Triangle, but that's all. This thing in my hands is the only closure I have for the families and friends of those now gone." I held it out to him.

Gingerly, Randy took it. He held it like the tape was a fragile piece of art. He pulled out something from his coat pocket. It was a tape player like the one I had seen in the publisher's office. I didn't want to hear the awful scene again, but I allowed Nolan to play it regardless. After the screams ended, Randy shut it off. "I...I can't believe this," he said.

"I don't want to either, but it's there."

Randy stared down at the player for a moment, then slammed his fist down on it in frustration. "I'll write a story about this," he said in resolve. "I'll blow the lid off of Ryan and his dirty little secret."

"No, you can't. Randy, I saw proof your publisher is taking bribes from a man named Frank Fontaine to keep hard evidence of his illegal activities away from the public. He could be taking bribes or threats from Ryan, too, I don't know."

"Then I'll publish it myself! I'm a reporter, Johnny, it's my job to give the people the truth!"

"Then you'll be in the same boat as me. No, I won't let you. Not after all you've done for me." I stood. "I won't let you get any more mixed up with me. It's time for you and I to part ways."

Randy was taken aback. "What?"

"Let's not argue about this. I need to leave this place. There's no other way. I'll find a way to one of Raptures's diving areas, like the one I came in with, and I'll _walk_ out of here."

"That's suicide and you know it."

"Nolan, I've been in situations ten times worse than this with just my diver's suit before. I can do this. I'll make my way to the surface, then...then...I don't know. But I'll find some way to get out of here. I don't need you risking your life along with me."

"I can't just let you—"

"Think of Liz. You can't just leave her alone. It's time for you to let me go. I need to do this alone."

The confliction was not something pleasing to see on him. He looked like someone who always knew what he wanted and got it. Not now, though. Now he was caught at a crossroads and didn't know which way to turn. I smiled down at him, "Thank you, Randy. For everything, but thank you for waking me up. I'm not giving up this time. I'm getting out of here."

With that, I left Nolan.

* * *

**Author's Slightly Guilted Note:** All right, I have split the dramatic day into two parts, so part two coming soon. Meantime, enjoy the calm before the storm we all know is coming and please review! Anyway, thanks for the feedback, everybody. Last time around I got quite a bit of reviews, and for that I am thankful.


	8. Your Knife My Back

**Author's Note: **Hopefully this will be much more satisfying than the last chapter. I had started with these both in the same chapter, but it was coming out too long, so I decided to split it, and the result was a somewhat weak chapter six. For that I apologize. But, like I said, it was the calm before the storm. 'Cause from here on out, things are only going to get worse for Johnny Topside. Much worse.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Your Knife. My Back.**

Subtlety was something left to be desired with my diving suit as I walked through the city. But, like everything else about my situation, I had never expected to _need_ subtlety. I had never expected to face a lot of things I had. I was a soldier, not a super spy. The question lingered in my head yet again on why I was bothering to fight against all the opposition I faced. There was no way I could expect to get out of here. No way to escape Rapture, at least not alive. But I had promised. I had to try. Better to try than to fall a coward, I reminded myself yet again. Better to fail a free man than to surrender a slave.

I had to figure out a way to get to another docking area for the divers. I racked my brain. Port Neptune would be too obvious... there would surely be guards. I had been here for a week, how was I supposed to know the locations of the docks? I found myself nearly collapsing in frustration, gripping the crevice in the wall for support. I had to focus. I had to think.

_"No, Clark. I'm not saying we should lead a revolt or anything. I'm just saying if we could get enough people, we could get some better standards for working class."_

_"Bah. Idiot bureaucracy is all you'll get out of that. Take the Atlantis Express's main station, for instance. In the same five meters, we got every class passing through. If the rich pricks looked around something other than themselves for once in their pointless—"_

_"Jeez, Clark! I get the feeling you don't like the upper class much."_

_"Pricks. All of them. But see here, all they have to do is look around just for a second and they can see **us** working our butts off making sure their precious Rapture doesn't fall down around them. If you ask me..."_

The Atlantic Express! That was the answer. I remembered more than one mention of it from the others. If I could just get there...

If I could just get there, I could get out of this death trap.

* * *

Stanley Poole had heard about the warrant for Johnny Topside's arrest. It would have been a lie to say the thought of it hadn't made him a little warm. He allowed himself to imagine the headline:

**JOHNNY TOPSIDE ARRESTED AS SPY, WAS HE REALLY OUR GREAT HERO?**

That sounded nice. It would bring in the readers, for sure. Everyone loved a good conspiracy. Something that made them imagine a bit of danger in their daily drawl of a life. It would sell by the thousands. Ryan would love it. And Poole was going to be the one to write it in. Screw Randy Nolan, it was Stan Poole's turn.

Poole paced in his apartment for a moment after hearing the news, contemplating the words he would use to grip the interests of the Rapture population. Conspiracy was good, yes, but the people always craved a hero. That was why they had loved Topside. Yea, his story needed a hero. Not some drunken security officer, but a real hero. Poole stopped. A smile crossed his face. This would be good. It would be very good. He would work the details out later, now he had to move.

He hurried to the telephone, dialed a number, and waited for a response. "Hello?" he said into the receiver. "I, eh, would like to speak to Andrew Ryan, if it ain't too much trouble, please."

* * *

The announcement finally came.

_"And now, a special message from Andrew Ryan..."_

I felt my blood go cold at the words that buzzed over the radios, TV's, and stereos. I knew what was coming. I knew, but I was terrified of the words all the same. I looked around. A station that would take me to the Atlantic Express's main station was just a few yards away. I needed to get to it. I needed to reach it before Andrew Ryan said the damning words...

_"Good morning, my friends. I hope you are having a find day in Rapture,"_ Andrew Ryan's voice was calm and cool. I saw that the station was nearly empty, the train to the main station leaving in just moments. I quickened my pace, hoping not to catch any eyes. Ryan continued, _"But, friends, I have some very grave news. I am sorry to say that on this day, a **parasite** walks among us."_

Was that all that needed to be said to make every head look up, to bring every ear to the radio? A simple accusation from Andrew Ryan made everyone look behind them in fear of being stabbed in the back? It was frightening, that a man could hold so much power over so many people. Build a city and people worship you, I thought bitterly. But I hurried on. There would be a vending machine to buy a ticket. I had a few dollars with me.

_"There are many reasons why we fight against the parasite. We all have suffered under his reign. We have all come here to escape him. And, even now, at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, he still seeks to destroy us. But we, **we** are men. We, together, pull The Great Chain, just as The Great Chain pulls us. Each of one of us make up the Chain link by link. Together, we may truly live in harmony, guided by our own will and fight for survival. Together, we are free of government and tyranny. **Together**, we can rid ourselves of the stink of the parasites."_

The happy tune played on the vending machine, making the ruckus of a gunshot in the utter hush that had befallen the city. I prayed no one would notice me. The ticket popped out for me, and I snatched it. All I had to do was get to the train, and I was nearly home free.

_"Last night, while we slept on soundlessly, a parasite emerged to steal from us what is ours. He came, a thief in the night, and burgled the offices of the publisher of Rapture Tribune. The documents stolen contain key information that the parasite will no doubt use to reveal Rapture to the tyrants of the world. The future of Rapture is dependent on finding this parasite before he can escape."_

I made it to the train, smiled to the conductor as innocently as I could. He smiled back. I started for the door to an empty cart. The conductor put his hand out to stop me. "Ticket, sir?"

"What? Oh, yes. I'm so sorry, I guess my head is gone today."

"Happens all the time, sir. Now, your ticket?"

_"The parasite wanders the halls. We build this city, and the doubters send a spy to destroy what we have built. The parasite must be stopped!"_

"_Ticket_, sir," the conductor was growing impatient.

"I'm sorry, I..."

_"There shall be a handsome reward to any who captures the parasite and brings him to me."_

"Say, aren't you Johnny Topside?" the conductor squinted his old eyes at me.

"Here's my ticket," I thrust it at him and hurried myself onto the train. This section was empty, but the conductor still had to board and get this moving.

_"This parasite has no name. He is only a deceiver."_

The conductor blew the whistle to indicate that we were leaving.

_"Johnny Topside must be captured at all cost!"_

The train took off, and I slumped back in my seat, feeling as though I had just fought ten rounds with a championship boxer. I felt relief as the train tunneled under the ocean water, leaving the awful transmission still speaking in the station.

* * *

The men of Rapture Security Force loved and hated their jobs. It really depended on the day and who you asked. Today, the consensus was, without a doubt, that they hated their jobs.

"Fontaine's smugglers are still on the rise and we're out looking for some poor schmuck who knows too much. Makes you wonder what happened to blind justice, huh?" seemed to be the common phrase on every man's lips.

The officers were under no illusion. They, above most, understood the situation in Rapture better than anyone. That knowledge came with a price. Anyone who found or compromised Rapture was to be put to death. It was a simple, easy sentence to carry out. It was the after affect that led to each officer's self destruction. Most were drunks or avid splicers now, only sobering up during the few hours on duty. It was a dangerous road to travel, and most were unsure anymore as to whether they had chosen the right path. Regardless, the man called Johnny Topside had to be found. And they were, apparently, the men to do it.

Security Chief Sullivan was not an exception. He was tired and plagued with guilt. Part of him thought to some sandy white beach in Hawaii, as opposed to the dank underwater city. He shook his head from such deadly thoughts. What he really needed was a good night sleep, as opposed to constantly being woken up for every emergency or complaint. That was Andrew Ryan's job to deal with.

That was, if Andrew Ryan wasn't the one who always woke him up.

Silently wishing there was a plasmid that cured drowsiness, he took another sip of his coffee and turned to the other man with him. "You really think this will work, Poole?"

Stanley Poole gave him a look that on any other face would have been charming, but on Poole just looked creeping, his eyes too far set apart and hair too greased. "Trust me, if there's one thing I get, Sullivan, it's people. It'll work."

Sullivan shrugged complacently. The sooner he could nab the "parasite", the sooner he could go home and get some sleep.

* * *

The train came to a halt and so did my short moments of rest. Back to the hiding, the terror, the dread.

I rose and looked out the window. This was the main station, so I expected to see a highly populated area. Instead, I saw no one. The doors popped open but no one exited. No whistles blew. I was utterly alone. Frantically, I tried to think of what to do.

"Hey!" a hushed cry called to me. "What do you think you're doing? Get over here!"

I wasn't sure who it was that called me, but I would have gone toward Andrew Ryan at this point. The call came from a small office. Inside, there was a gangly, brunette man.

"What do you think you're doing, walking out in the open like that? Haven't you heard the announcement? Everyone's looking for you!"

"What?"

"You're Johnny Topside, right? You should be, 'cause I can't think of any other nut that gets kicks outta walking around in a diving suit. Look, Nolan sent me for you."

"He did what?"

"Yea, I know. You told him you needed to go your own road, right? Well, he still thinks you need help. He sent me. He wanted me to make sure you got to the docking areas safe and sound."

"You can get me to the docks?"

"Better than that, pal. I can get you out of here with a guarantee of being spotted. See, I'm a reporter like Nolan. I just so happened to lead the fine boys in blue away from this area and onto another, telling 'em I got a witness from Adonis Resort of a Topside spotting. We're home free, buddy."

I cocked my head. "Why would you help me?" It was more of an accusation than a question.

"Don't get like that, Topside. First off, it ain't like ya got a butt load of options here. Second, I'm doin' this because I owe Nolan quite the doozy of a favor for something he did for me a little while back. I figure this'll pay him back. In full. So, you ready to go or not?"

I sighed. He was right. I didn't have a lot of options. "Let's go."

The docking station was there, just as my helper had promised. It looked wonderful to my sore eyes. I almost cried at the sight. My freedom, stretched out right in front of me, ripe for the taking.

"You all right, amigo? We gotta get you secure in that suit of yours. Then we can pump enough oxygen to last you until the middle of next June."

I made anything on my suit that wasn't secure sealed tight. Nothing was getting out of this thing. Finally, I smiled to the man. "Thank you. I'm more grateful than you could imagine. I never got your name." I pulled my helmet that had been hanging precariously down my back onto my head, hearing it hiss shut. The man fitted on my oxygen tanks. I heard him turn the nozzle to allow the air to flow freely. I took a deep breath.

"The name's Stan Poole."

Something was wrong. I took another breath, but like before, no relief of air came. Instead, a strange smell... I gave an alarmed look at Poole, who only smiled. "And you, my friend," he concluded. "Are in quite a bit of trouble."

My nose burned at the poisonous gas I knew was flowing through my tanks. I had to take my helmet off, or I was going to suffocate. I reached for the locks, but my muscles seemed to turn to butter. I fell on my knees. "What did you do...?" I tried to breathe, but the air wouldn't come. My vision blurred, then sank into blackness.

"Goodbye, Johnny Topside."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Told you. Please review!


	9. In a Lose, Lose Situation

**Author's Long Note: **So, after last chapter, I figured I was good with this thing, at least for a short while to work on my other fic. However, the morning after I had made this resolve, I was glancing through the archive and made quite the discovery. Looks like I got myself some competition. So, out of ridiculous and petty jealousy, I hunkered down and wrote this next chapter. Okay, weird way of coping, but good for you, I guess. Anyway, I hope my readers stick with me, and I'd like to thank my reviewers yet again. I have officially gotten one thousand hits! So here's the next chapter. People seem to like how I capture the BioShock characters. I hope that stays true this round, because this one's gonna have quite a few big names. Also, this is where things become somewhat unclear in details in the game and the wiki. I hope I don't screw the canon up too bad. Enjoy! Please review!

* * *

**Chapter 8: In a Lose, Lose Situation**

I awakened with an enraged shock. "POOLE!" I cried out.

"Oh, great. He's awake."

The anger died as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only confusion and uncertainty. I looked around frantically. "Where am I?" All I could see around me was darkness.

"Hell. Welcome, Johnny Topside."

"Who are you?" I called out to the dark.

"Your cell mate. And, may I say, you make quite a crappy first impression, Mr. Topside. You've been muttering like a drunken idiot all night. I ain't got much beauty to worry about, but a wink here and there would be nice."

"Did you say 'cell mate'?"

"You're a dense one, aren't you? Tell me, Johnny, where do you _think_ you are after stealing from Rapture? You're a parasite to this beautiful city blah blah blah. Where did you think they would stick you?"

I sat up stiffly. "Honestly, I thought I would be dead."

"Trust me, that would be the more pleasant road compared to this place."

"What exactly is this place?"

"Persephone. Nice name, right? Off of the tragic tale of the beautiful Persephone, whisked away by Hades to be married to him forever in Underworld. A slave in matrimony. Sad, huh?"

I wasn't sure why I was getting the mythology lesson. "Sure. Sure, it's sad." I felt my body. I wasn't wearing my suit, but clad in what felt like cotton. "You know who I am. Who are you?"

The strange voice laughed bitterly in the darkness. "Harold Parson. But you can call me Harry."

Parson... "Do you have a son named Billy?"

There was a silence, and I thought I heard a choke. "You know my son? Is he safe? Where is he?"

"I...I just saw him on the streets. He's got quite the frankness. It's nice to see in a kid."

A sad chuckle. "That's my boy. Did he look okay? Clean? Did you see my wife?"

"They both looked fine. They were at the carnival."

"Good. Good," the voice sounded only slightly relieved. "They need to forget me. They need to move on."

"Why are you here?"

"I owned a bookstore. Spoke out against Ryan. But that wasn't what killed me. What killed me was I tried to gather enough people for a revolt. Now I bet not even my books remain. When you disappear in Rapture, you disappear completely."

I wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter. Words...they never matter. Ryan had words. He had lots of words. Turns out, they don't count for squat when things get rough." Harry scoffed, "The Great Chain. What a joke."

We were silent. "So, what now?"

"Now? Now, we...endure, Topside. Can't do much more than that. You, you've made quite a name for yourself. I can't imagine you being in here much longer. Public won't like it. Ya just gotta endure for a little while. Then you're as good as free. Just wait and hope."

I sighed. I hoped he was right.

* * *

Andrew Ryan could not think of a previously more stressful day since he had started Rapture.

"Mr. Ryan!" his assistant fluttered into his office. "The phone is ringing off of the hook! People are demanding meetings with you to discuss the matter of Mr. Topside."

"His name is _not_ Johnny Topside."

"Regardless, sir, what am I supposed to tell them? They all seem very upset about the arrest of this man."

"Upset? Upset of the elimination of a pest?"

"Mr. Ryan, I don't pretend to understand—especially not politics. I just have to be the person to answer the phone and listen to these people!"

Ryan swore under his breath. "Has Sinclair returned my call on a meeting?"

"He says he can be over later this afternoon."

"Good."

"Mr. Ryan...the complaints?"

"I pay you to deal with this. Do I need to find someone else who can? I will have a solution soon." After he spoke with Sinclair. He waited for his assistant to leave. She didn't. "Is there something else?"

"Sir...Miss McClintock is here..."

A much louder, more colorful curse escaped his lips this time. The assistant continued, "She says it's important."

"Fine. Fine! Send her in!"

Diane McClintock was not completely sure of what she was doing. In truth, she was in such a stupor that she wasn't very sure of anything anymore. She had tried to ignore the rumors. She had tried to do a lot of things. But she couldn't just ignore it anymore. She wouldn't survive not facing what she knew to be true.

Andrew Ryan was changing before her eyes. And she didn't think he was molding into anything pleasant.

He did not acknowledge her entrance. She stood at the door for a moment, watching him hunched over his desk. His work. The walls surrounding him had become his home as of late. Always something kept him from her, stuck in this room. These four walls. "You didn't come home last night," she said quietly.

Ryan didn't look up. "If you've been reading the papers, Diane, you should know why."

"Yea, I know. Johnny Topside, right?" she sighed. He was going to be difficult today. "You didn't come home the night before, either."

"I _did._ I was just home late. I sent you a message. You know why for that, also."

"Rosenburg, Fontaine, genetic mutation, all that jazz. Yea, Andrew, I know why you haven't been coming home. What I _don't_ know is why you've been pushing me away."

"I haven't been pushing you away."

"Oh, please, let's not play this game, Andrew. You haven't been home before midnight in almost a month! Each day I get some audio tape of why's and how's. I don't want a recording! I want_ you_!"

"Diane, please. I don't have time for this right now."

"Then make time! You haven't r_eally_ been home since you made the death penalty a punishment for contraband, and I know why. Because when you came to the apartment that night I had confronted you on it. You're still angry about that, aren't you?"

"No, I am not."

"Oh, really? It didn't upset you that I had said that those men did not deserve to die for smuggling? Because, Andrew, I remember quite clearly the way you had stalked out that night. I also remember the rumors I had heard the morning after."

Ryan felt his blood boil inside. "Diane, I told you: you won't ever have to hear those rumors again."

"That doesn't change the fact that they were true. Oh, don't deny it. At least spare me the denial. I don't care anymore. Not about that. What I _do _care about is how I'm seeing you act. The more you spend in here, the more I hear about these disappearances and hangings. Johnny Topside, for one."

Ryan glared at her. "What about him?"

"He stole a few documents and you try to crucify him? I know it's serious, but I hardly think this crime is worth life in prison."

"It is not just stealing. He's part of the United States military, sent down here to spy on us."

"Spy? Andrew, I saw Johnny I few nights ago, and his was not the face of a spy."

"So I suppose he was breaking into the Rapture Tribune to get the winner of the day's football game? Diane, he is dangerous. I cannot allow him to roam free through my city."

Ryan was growing angrier by the sentence, but Diane was angry, too. She was tired of being silent. She said, "But this is a bad idea, Andrew! The people love Topside. There will be riots, just like when you declared the death penalty for the smugglers. And then what will you do? Lock all of _them _up, too? Declare them traitors to the city and—"

She hadn't expected the slap from the back of Ryan's hand. He stood, gasping in utter anger, staring down at her. Shocked to a point of numbness, she rubbed her cheek. "I see..." and with that, she turned, left without another word.

Ryan looked away from the sight of her exit and rested his hands on his desk. He was so very tired. There would be no turning back now, he knew. He would doubt himself any further. To doubt was to give into the parasites. Fontaine, Topside, Lamb...no. He would not falter. He would endure. Always endure.

The intercom buzzed. "Sir, Sinclair has arrived."

* * *

Poole was growing anxious. He had been told to sit in the same spot for almost a full twenty four hours now, outside of Ryan's office. He watched many come and leave the office, yet he himself was not allowed entrance. He didn't like it. He didn't like any of it. He had given them Johnny, what else did they want? The idea made him nervous. He just wanted his reward and his story. How hard could that be? Yet here he sat, alone, waiting. He didn't like it one bit.

"Mr. Stanley Poole. Our little hero."

Poole looked up with relief to see Augustus Sinclair smiling at him. "Hey, there. Nice to see ya again."

Sinclair was personally responsible for making every good scandal Poole had tried to make of Ryan impossible to print. He was the one always saving Ryan's hide from the press. Poole held no animosity toward him, though. Poole never held any animosity toward anyone with as much money and power as Augustus Sinclair, esquire. Sinclair said now, "I've got your reward right here." He pulled out a wad of cash with more money then Poole would see in weeks of work at the paper. Poole's face lit up, conjuring to Sinclair's mind Daffy Duck with dollar signs in his eyes. He snatched the cash straight out of Sinclair's hand.

"Thanks, man. Thanks a lot." Poole ran his fingers through the bills.

"Careful you don't soil that shirt of yours with your drool," Sinclair thought to say. But, instead, he said with a much friendlier tone, "You have done quite a fine service for Rapture."

"Yea, yea, sure. Whatever you want."

"You serious about that, son?"

Poole looked up suddenly, an inquisitive look on his face. "What are you getting at?"

"Well, son, I'd like to offer you a job is what I'm getting at."

Poole was suddenly all ears.

* * *

A few hours later, Augustus Sinclair hurried up the stairs to the office of his next meeting. He looked especially professional today. His suit was as expensive as they came; with golden cuff links and classic tie, he set off an air of aristocracy. His cologne was powerful without being distasteful, and his dark hair was gelled carefully on his head. The leather suitcase in his right hand as he walked held only a few papers and files but carried all that he would ever need.

Stanley Poole had been taken care of, and Lamb was well on her way, but this next meeting was going to be hard. He could not just lose this person in strong words or a clever scheme, as he was used to. This one was a like minded foe. But Sinclair smiled a dazzling smile only Dr. J.S. Streinman could give with a little ADAM and a few hundreds of dollars. Sinclair loved a challenge.

He approached the secretary and received the usual response to his request of visitation. "Is he expecting you, sir?"

Sinclair grinned. A little surprise never hurt anyone, did it? "Darlin'," he said in his Southern cadence. "I come as a concerned friend. He's been very stressed these days..." Sinclair waited for the secretary to mull the thought, then nod in agreement. "...And I figured he needs a friendly visit during work. Dr. Lamb has recommended it, you know."

The secretary frowned and opened one of the schedule books. "He hasn't been seeing Dr. La—" she started.

"Oh, no. Did I slip? It's supposed to be a secret, you see." Sinclair dropped a sweet, innocent look. "You won't tell him I've said anything, will you? For the sake of his pride, and all."

The secretary looked unsure for a moment but nodded. "I understand. He _has_ been rather...irritable lately."

Sinclair feigned pity. "He used to be so pleased with his work. We've all been worried about him. Please, may I see him? I promise I'll be quick."

"Well, he's said he doesn't want anyone disturbing him today..." she worried her lip. "But I suppose it's for his health. Go on in."

Sinclair gave a look of mock thankfulness. "You're a lovely girl, Miss Jennifer."

Frank Fontaine slammed a fist on the week's reports. Charity. All the freaking charity. Give them a cot and a bowl of soup, and they give you their lives. Not when they were all running to Sofia Lamb, with those pansy butterflies, they won't. Now he was short on test subjects. Buyers want better guarantees. And gimmicks. People loved gimmicks. Fontaine shook his head and stood, starting to pace the room. He was so lost in thought, he didn't notice Sinclair slip into his office.

Sinclair watched Fontaine's tall stature for a moment in conceited amusement, then let out a long whistle. "You look like a man with a lot on his mind. Why don't you unload onto ol' Sinclair, huh, sport?"

Sinclair was extremely lucky he didn't get himself shot. Because as soon as he had spoken, Fontaine had his pistol whipped out as quick as lightning, aimed to Sinclair's head before he could even finish his sentence. Sinclair raised his hands. "Woah, there!" he added hastily. "I'm here on friendly terms, chief. I was thinking of bringing in the white flag, but I figured we were both men enough to be above toy soldier."

"How the—?" Fontaine looked more shocked than anything.

Sinclair replied simply, "Your secretary is quite the gullible little beauty, isn't she?"

Fontaine huffed in realization and holstered his weapon back in his suit. "The best kind for a business as private as mine." There was iciness in his voice.

"Oh, I'm sure. Your line of work can't have suspicion on a daily basis."

Sinclair smiled. Fontaine smiled back. The thickness of the air could be cut with a knife.

Fontaine said with plastic politeness, "What can Fontaine Futuristics do for you, Sinclair?"

Sinclair replied, "I'm here on behalf of Andrew Ryan."

Fontaine nearly choked. He scanned Sinclair's face to find the hint of humor in his eyes. Sinclair had to be pulling his leg. "Is this a joke?" he asked.

"I assure you, Mr. Fontaine. This is no joke."

Fontaine sat back down at his desk, looking completely perplexed for a moment.

"You see, Mr. Fontaine—"

"Drop the 'mister' crap, Sinclair." Fontaine was looking straight through him, his expression unchanged. He couldn't wrap his head around Sinclair's words.

"—Andrew Ryan has an itty bitty problem with a current prisoner we have in custody. Ryan needs said prisoner to...go away. No records. No name. So here's the proposal: you take the prisoner in under your plasmid studies. Use him as any type of guinea pig you fancy. All Ryan wants is for the guy to disappear." Sinclair gave another dazzling smile. "It's that simple. Everybody wins."

"What's 'said prisoner's' name?"

"Pardon?"

Fontaine looked into Sinclair's eyes and gave a look that the devil himself would have had trouble imitating. "What is the name of the man you want me to virtually obliterate, Sinclair?"

Sinclair couldn't find his tongue for a moment, but finally answered, "He is known to citizens as Johnny Topside."

A faint, little crack of a smile appeared on Fontaine's lips. In a moment, to Sinclair's horror, Fontaine's laughter filled the room. There was something wrong with his laugh. It was haunting, bitter, and even a little manic. Sinclair frowned at the display, and inwardly "rolled his sleeves up." He said, "Look here, Fontaine. We both know there's quite the little turf war going on between you and Ryan. Forget about it for a moment. I'm offering you a sound product: a healthy specimen for your plasmid testing. Why can't you just take it and not look a gift horse in the mouth?"

Fontaine, still smirking, wiped a lone tear from his eye. "Because, my dear Sinclair," the words sounded almost phony with his thick Bronx dialect, "I hate Andrew Ryan. And I, frankly, hate you. So, to answer your question, I won't take your...horse, just 'cause I won't."

Sinclair placed his palms on Fontaine's desk and leaned forward. "Well, old sport, it looks like we have a problem."

Fontaine raised an eyebrow, but smiled and leaned forward himself. He could play this game, if Sinclair so chose. "Not unless you want there to be a problem, _chief_."

A vision appeared in Sinclair's head of two wolves circling each other in preparation of a deadly fight. This approach wouldn't work. His eyes flickered down quickly to Fontaine's paperwork. One caught his attention. In red, the scribbled phrase, "LAMB IS BAD BUNKO" gave him just the leg up he needed. He snatched the paper up and held it up for Fontaine to see. "Well, Frank Fontaine, it sure is lucky for you that there just isn't a solution..." Sinclair smiled—not a plastic smile this time, but a victorious one. "...like a Sinclair Solution."

Outside, Fontaine's secretary gave a worried glance toward the door. They had been in there for quite a while. Maybe she had made a poor call in allowing Sinclair to see Mr. Fontaine. What if her boss was angry with her now? She quickly gathered some papers—anything to make her appear as though she had some sort of purpose, and entered his office herself to be sure everything was all right.

To her relief, the first thing she saw the two men shaking hands, as one did in some sort of business deal. That was odd for friends, but she hardly ever understood her boss at times. She rested the papers on one of her hips, holding it like a child. Sinclair began to exit, stepping backwards so as not to turn his back on Fontaine. "Great to see you, Frank." He nodded toward the portrait of Fontaine's family the secretary rarely heard him speak of. "Nice picture," Sinclair added his final comment to Fontaine. He turned to the girl, that overly confident smile on his face. "A pleasure, Miss Jennifer." He took her free hand and kissed it before exiting.

Blushing, she approached Fontaine. "I have some papers for you to sign, sir."

Fontaine nodded. "Jen," he asked, "did Augustus Sinclair happen to tell you I was seeing Dr. Sofia Lamb?"

Jennifer's eyes faltered. "Don't be angry with him, Mr. Fontaine. He was just worried about you."

"Ah. That's what he was, was he?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Fontaine. I can tell these things about men. But, anyway, did his visit make you feel any better?"

Jenny, Fontaine thought to himself. You're quite the eye candy, but you've got the brains of a dizzy twist. Then he said to her with a charming smile, "Oh, yea. In fact, I don't think I'll be seeing Doc Lamb for much longer at all..."


	10. Subject Delta

**Chapter 9: Hello, Subject Delta**

They came and took him just two days later. The men, large and curt, appeared at the cell's entrance. They asked for "Johnny Topside." The warden gave him to them. Harold Parson saw the look of terror in Johnny's eyes as he stood. The two men made it clear they were in no mood for a fight.

Harold had tried to comfort Johnny. "It'll be okay, Johnny. See what I told you? You're gonna be home free now. You're out of here..."

It had been such a stupid, pathetic lie. Both cell mates knew it. Yet Johnny looked at Harold and nodded. Even smiled. "Yea. I'm outta here."

One of the men grabbed Johnny's arm and began to lead him away. Johnny did not try to break from him. Johnny looked behind to Harold and called softly, "I won't forget about you. Your family won't forget about you either. Remember what you said? You've just got to endure."

Harold nodded solemnly, and Johnny disappeared down the halls with the two men. Harold was left alone in his cell. Alone from everything.

The hours of that day turned to a never ending loneliness creeping in his heart, poisoning his mind. He was alone. No one would come for him, he knew. He tried to sleep the day away, but the blue glow of the ocean continued to keep him awake. The ocean. Why had he ever thought he could find paradise so far down from the sun? From the stars. Oh, how he longed to see the stars and the moon again! It was all becoming clear to him now. He understood why he could no longer feel any pleasure down here. He longed for the surface. Craved it. He knew now. For the first time in months, he just _knew_.

The doctor came to see him that evening. All the prisoners knew the doctor. He would probe you, question you, sometimes torture you. He was the psychiatrist of Persephone. He said he would make you feel better if you only listened to him. He said he would make all the pain go away. Just answer his questions and comply with his studies, and he would make everything all right.

He never did.

But the doctor did not try to take Harold today to one of the little rooms. He just stopped at his cell and met Harold's eyes. There was a long moment of this stare. Finally, the doctor dropped something into Harold's cell. Harold looked to the floor. An Acu-Vox... and rope.

"Time to choose. Make it quick, Harold," was all the doctor said before leaving, along with all the guard's in view of Harold's cell.

Slowly, Harold clicked on the audio diary. "It's time to leave this place," he said slowly to it as his fingers encircled the rope. He was so very tired. "I held out hope for months that I'd see my family again, but it seems like this rope is my only ticket to freedom. I'm sure Ryan has seized the bookstore, no telling where Gloria and Billy will have to... live... Can't seem to form a complete thought anymore. Can't sleep with that glow coming in the windows. Things out there. Watching us. Maybe I'll get to sleep now..."

He formed a perfect noose in his hands. He could endure no longer. His only chance for freedom was this crude object in his hands.

He just wanted to sleep again...

* * *

Stan Poole knew this was beginning to look embarrassing. This was the fourth time he had approached the metal door to the sanctuary. It was just that every time he got close to the sanctuary, his stomach would scramble and his heart would race. There would be no going back as soon as he dared to enter that steeple. He would be all in. Poole stopped himself. Again. He wasn't cut out for this. Johnny Topside... he was a one time thing. Poole had needed the story, that was all. How could he be expected to be some kind of—of super mole for Ryan?

Then Poole remembered all of the money handed to him after aiding in the capture of Topside. A smile stretched across the reporter's face. He could have more. So much more. All that he could ever want stretched out for him like a buffet cooked exclusively for him. He just had to do this one thing for Ryan. This single, dark deed.

Poole entered the cathedral.

"Brothers and sisters, the temptation to languish in self-pity is great. Who can deny it, beleaguered as we are by the sins of our past? But self-pity is no more than a tricky shade of pride, freezing us up when we should act. The Lamb's Path leads up beyond the reach of the self, obliterating the ego. But we must work for it, we must not lie caged in our bones, groveling at the ego's alter."

Poole was relieved. The sermon was almost over. Poole would just have to endure a little bit of squirming in his seat. He tried to be as reverent as possible as he sat down in a pew.

The preacher, Father Wales, continued with a voice raised loud, "Andrew Ryan is leaving us wandering confused and _alone_. We fight our own brothers in an effort to reach the top of the Great Chain first. Brothers and sisters, the Great Chain is nothing but a trap, binding us from our true potential together! But Sofia Lamb shows us that we are not alone, we are together, as a family. So when you see a man brought to his knees, recognize that he is your brother, and pull him up. Sofia Lamb teaches us: What is in common is good. What is irreducible is right. We are a _family_!"

Cheers erupted. Many stood. Poole felt like a deer in the headlights; he remained steadfast in his seat.

Soon, the sermon was over. Most had left. A few lingered, praying in their seats. Father Wales stood at the front, beaming at them all with a proud look in his eyes. Poole seized this opportunity with near ecstasy. He wanted to be over and done with this as quickly as possible.

"Hey, uh, Father Wales, right?" Poole shook himself. He sounded like an idiot. Of course this was Father Wales, who else could it be? "Eh, I'm Stan Poole. I work at Rapture Tribune."

The father clasped Poole's hand warmly, startling the reporter. "Hello, child! I am glad you came. The Family is open to anyone. Tell me, did you enjoy the sermon?"

"Yea... yea, I did." Get it together, Poole, he tried to coach himself. You get one shot at this. He cleared his throat. "I, heh... You got me really thinking about, about pulling together and all. It's like everyone's out for number one around here. Even my editor. I mean, I _try _to write the truth in my stories, but if it messes with the cash in his pocket, I get censored and cut off. Take this Topside story, for one. My editor wanted me to brand the guy a traitor. It'll make for better sales, he said," the words were becoming easier for Poole by the second, the lie weaving a tapestry of genius, forming a net, ready to trap Wales and all he held dear. "But, you know, I had to write it. In Rapture, you either make it, or you don't. What am I supposed to do, you know? But this... you're all promising something different. Something better."

The words almost felt sincere. Almost.

Father Wales's face had changed from beaming to solemness through Poole's speech. Stan felt his heart take a dive as he waited for a response from the pseudo-preacher. Finally, Wales, his face expressionless and without a word, slipped a slim pamphlet into Poole's fingers. Wales gave him a nod, then turned away abruptly.

Poole was dazed. He looked down at the paper. "Artist's Retreat," it announced in clear, nice lettering, "Dionysus Park." Poole smiled a smile that would chill the bone. Sofia Lamb and her precious Family were going to be closed in with the same fingers that held the invitation now. Stanley Poole was well on his way to the super mole Sinclair and Ryan wanted so badly.

Poole slipped the pamphlet quietly into his back pocket and strode out of Siren Alley whistling happily.

* * *

I was led from Persephone to a bathysphere. From a bathysphere to a new building to me entirely.

It was one of the tallest buildings in Rapture I had seen. The sign glistened "Fontaine Futuristics." I shivered as I surveyed it from the window. After all the rumors of Fontaine, his business was the last place I wanted to be. I looked back to the two men "escorting" me. They had said almost nothing about where I was going or why. I thought to remain silent, also, but that died quickly. I was not a dog to be led anywhere they so pleased.

"Am I going there?" I pointed to the building.

No answer.

"Why?"

They refused to even acknowledge me.

"Am I free? Has Ryan dropped the charges? Does he want to talk to me? Does Fontaine? What is Fontaine Futuristics, anyway?"

One of the grunt's eyes flickered at me for a moment, then continued to stare ahead.

I was growing impatient. "Listen, I'm a human being like you. I have a right to—"

One of them men put a hand up. He clicked the short wave radio hanging on the bathysphere wall. "We're here, sir."

"Good," the voice coming from the radio was emotionless. "Go ahead with routine. You're clear."

The other man finally spoke to me, "See here: we don't want to have to make this harder on you than this has to be. So please, just _stand still_ for a moment?"

"What are you talking about? I don't—wait!" The needle plunged into my neck and it's contents emptied through my veins. I stared at the other man with the assaulting needle. I staggered, hand on neck, but the damage was done. "Why would you..." but my words slurred into mesh. The man caught me as my legs gave way. One, singular thought crossed my mind.

Not again.

No, wait. This drug wasn't the same as before. I was sedated, yes. Useless, yes. My body felt more like a hollow vessel now than my own. But my mind was still aware. Barely, but there, nevertheless.

I tried to tell myself this was a good thing.

"I don't like this one," one of my escorts said quietly as they carried my dead body out of the bathysphere.

"You need the scratch, don't ya? That ADAM don't pay for itself."

"I know, I know. But I don't like bringing this one in. I mean, the others...they weren't..."

"They're desperate morons that give up their livelihood for a loaf of bread. This one's an honorable idiot what gave up his life for his country. Rapture's better off without either."

"Yea, but the others are already half gone when we bring them in. This guy? He's smart. He's capable. He ain't the type for this place."

"Wrong, pal. He's just right. The plasmid business was made for him. He'll be the top of the Theater in no time. "

This angered me for some reason, although I wasn't sure why. I didn't like that they were discussing me like I was an object. And I was confused. What were they talking about me being on top of? I inwardly rolled my eyes. Silly Johnny. You'll figure out soon enough, as soon as your head stops spinning so fast. Until then, it was silly to try to understand, or to even question. I was here, I should be content with the fact that I wasn't dead. Never question the good things in life, silly Johnny.

They stopped and set me down in a reclined chair. "He's ready for you eggheads," one of them said, then they exited.

"Thank you, I suppose," a new man, three actually, had appeared. Or was I just seeing triple? Such a silly Johnny. "Can you hear me?"

I tried to speak again, but my mouth felt like rubber. "Don't try to speak. My name is Dr. Suchong. This is Dr. Alexander and Dr. Griffin. You are in Fontaine Futuristics. You have been recruited by Augustus Sinclair to volunteer for testing our line of plasmids before it is released to the public. Do you understand that? If you can, nod."

I nodded, but it came out as more of a shaking. Silly, silly. Dr. Chop Suey continued, "You are no longer Johnny Topside, do you understand that? Johnny Topside never existed. You are not him."

Not Johnny? Of course I was. My name was Johnny Topside. I was a maintenance diver here. Eddie Davis and Randy Nolan and Dennis Clark and Greg Parker and Liz Holm had said so, didn't Suey understand _that_?

"You are now Subject Delta. You are a test subject for ADAM and plasmids for Fontaine Futuristics. You belong to us now."

Something clicked in my head. Something Suey had said... no. I was coming to now. Suchong, that was his name. What was it he had said?

I belonged to them now.

I tried to sit up now, suddenly panicked. But I was held fast. I looked to see myself bound to the chair. "What is this?" I tried to ask, but my mouth would still refuse to say the words. My mind was sobering too quickly. My head was swimming. "What are you doing to me?"

"Relax, Delta. Everything will be fine now. If you cooperate. You will be fed well. You will have a nice bed to sleep in..."

I belonged to them now. No, no! This was wrong. I was not Subject Delta.

"...You will have _power_, Delta..."

No. No, I would be a slave. I was not Subject Delta.

"...if you cooperate. For, you see, Delta, fighting will only make things harder. Please, just trust us. Everything will be fine..."

I was not Subject Delta.

"Please don't fight this, Delta," the other scientist, Alexander, came over to me. In his hand was a frightening needle with red liquid glowing menacingly inside it. "Dr. Suchong is correct. It will only cause you more pain than necessary."

My eyes met Alexander's with a fear... a plead. Don't do this, they said. Please. Alexander faltered. Griffon came to complete the deed himself. This one's eyes were cold, calculated, even loathing. "Watch yourself, Delta," he said as the needle plunged into my skin. "This first one's a doozy."

The poison entered my blood, strangling my very being. My very humanity. I felt more pain than I had ever felt in all my life. Fire. I was all fire. My whole world spun, the pain too much to deal with. I would have given anything just to have it end. My bones broke, my skin burned, my brain seized. I screamed, "Get out of me! No! NO! I am not a slave! _I am not Subject Delta!_" I felt my heart stop beating. Then mercifully, nothing more.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Heavy. Okay, so, I have decided to also write about Stanley's little undercover work to build up a case against Lamb. It should be fun, and it will be a nice sub-plot. Something lighter, I suppose. Anyway, neither the Father Wales speech (mostly) nor the suicide note of this chapter were my imagining, and I think that should be pointed out. Next chapter should definitely have some real action, so stayed tuned and **please** review!


	11. Blind Eyes and Deadly Lies

**Author's Note:** Please review blah blah special thanks to **Fire Nerbil** (again) for all the help. On a side note, I'm not very good at coming up with original plasmids, so if anyone has a good idea, I'd love to use it for the next chapter. 'Til next time, enjoy this chapter:

* * *

**Chapter 10: Blind Eyes and Deadly Lies**

The crowd came earlier than usual that day. Normally most who came on a regular basis were from the poorer parts of Rapture, looking for cheap entertainment, but there were a few paranoid or protective citizens that came for the demonstration of deadly power. Today, however, there was a vast variety of all types. There were the drunks, the worried housewives, the shrewd businessmen, and even a few children. Today was a special day at Frank Fontaine's Plasmid Spectacular Theater. There was a surprise this tour. Mr. Fontaine had said so.

So the masses came and sat in the crowded makeshift theater in Fontaine Futuristics. The theater had never really been planned in the original construction. Just sort of came to be as of late. It's popularity had grown considerably since the smuggling situation had escalated and disappearances had grown more common. Here, the people could have their guarantees. They could have a promise. You'll be safe, see? Look for yourself. Just a little bit of ADAM, and all of your worries will be over. You'll be protected. In these days, everyone wanted a guarantee of something. And if that had to be achieved through watching the strangers battle with the newest plasmid line, so be it. No one _really_ got hurt, anyway. They were all professionals, of course. They knew what they were doing when they had these matches. There was no actual danger. The children may think that for a moment, but no, no! It was silly to believe that their lives could _actually_ be at stake. Just ridiculous.

But today was a special day at the Plasmid Theater. Some kind of new, fantastic plasmid or fighter was making it's debut today. There was a lot of hype. The people came if only to satisfy curiosity.

Soon they were all seated. The lights dimmed. There was a thick glass separating the audience from the stage, a lovely and spacious area. It's curtains were closed now, hiding the excitement the crows was dying to see. They squirmed in their seats. Oh, how fantastic this was going to be! What could Fontaine and his amazing scientists have in store for them? They all quieted as two of the doctors appeared and approached the singular microphone in the front of the stage.

The kind Dr. Alexander started first. That was a good start. Everyone loved Dr. Gil Alexander. They quieted and hushed their children as Alexander began to speak, "Ladies and gentleman, Fontaine Futuristics invites you to shed your skepticism, evolve your expectations, and dissolve your doubt as we unveil the revolutionary power of our newest home defense plasmid series!"

That made the crowd excited. The applause filled the room. The second doctor, Dr. Griffin spoke, "Ah, but we have a special surprise for you today, folks! Shh, careful, though! It's a secret!" he smiled and winked at the wide eyed children, "But maybe _you_ can guess who the newest member of the Fontaine Family is..."

Everyone turned as the scientists exited and the curtain began to draw. Every breath was drawn in as the lights fell on the new stranger to the Theater...

* * *

The light burned my eyes. Why had they taken me from the dark? The dark was safe. I could hide in the dark. I didn't have to face myself in the dark.

I tried to think, but my mind was a disfigured mass of confusion and blurs. What was I doing here? Something kept my head hazed and confused. The lights dimmed as my eyes adjusted. I stood from where I had been left like a rag doll. I found it difficult to get up. Hard to stand at all. My body clanked against the metal I was clad in. Something erupted in my ears. A sound of applause. I could see through the glass of the helmet rows and rows of people cheering with excitement at _me_. I look down at my hands. Gloved, a symbol had been engraved into it. Slowly, my mind recognized it...

Delta.

The crowd was growing more excited. They started to chant. "Topside! Topside!"

I couldn't stop looking at the mark. A glow of static sparked all through my hands, up my arms, consuming my body. It felt wrong. _I _felt wrong. I was broken, but full. Starving, but sated. I had the power, but I was a slave. I knew I was a slave. After all, I belonged to _them _now. Still, the power emanating from my body was satisfying. Even wonderful. I raised the glowing hand. The people thought it as a wave to them and cheered louder, but I was scarcely paying attention to them.

Come on, I coached myself. Have some fun with this. It's here. It's in your hands now. Grab it. Grab it and run with it. Show them exactly what you can do.

I could do a lot. A smile crossed my face. I used all of my will, collecting the static flowing through me, focusing on the lone symbol on my hand. The static turned to a powerful fist of lightning in a moment. I looked for a target. Surrounding the stage I was on, I saw multiple statues. My smile grew wider. Fitting. I would burn a symbol of Rapture itself. Balling the power in my hands, I forced it onto one of the statues in the shape of the legendary on the surface"Phantom Lighthouse." The aftershock sent a brief wave all around, and the people cried out in amusement and even a bit of fear. I laughed, my glowing, tingling fingers curling into a fist.

I could do a lot with this.

* * *

"That's right, folks! You need a little charge? Then get current, with Electro-Bolt! Available only at Fontaine Futuristics, as demonstrated by our very own Subject Delta!" Dr. Alexamder was excellent at making a sale. The women were already poking at their husband's sides to check their wallets for money. The audience was enthralled, whispering and forming theories of Johnny Topside's sudden addition to the tour.

"I heard Ryan struck the deal up with him. He keeps his neck safe as long as he started some _honorable_ work here. Spying... the very idea!"

"Ryan's not so bad, see? Johnny's still kicking, and quite enjoying himself, you can look for yourself."

"Sure nice of Fontaine to give Johnny a job here."

"Of course! Fontaine's a real stand up guy. You've seen his work at Apollo Square, haven't ya? Anyone would have to have quite the bleeding heart to do all that for others."

"Oh, George, can't we get a plasmid? You spend enough time at the office to be able to afford it. Oh, please, George! Johnny Topside has it, after all. It'll be the talk of the town. How will I face the community without one myself?"

Griffin came over the speakers now, "Oh, but what's this? It looks like a fellow demonstrator has been upstaged, and is looking to steal the show back! What will Delta do now, folks?"

Everyone looked to see a man much smaller than Delta wearing a ripped and ragged business suit appear from one of the many stage entrances up on the walls. The competitor leaped down and gave a dramatic bow to the crowd. They cheered back. _Now_ was when the real show began...

* * *

I felt good. Amazing. I didn't hear the words babbling around me anymore than I noticed the swirls form around my boots. I wasn't aware of anything until I heard the voice, so close to my ears, say, "It's your coming out of sorts, boy. You've got to make it look good."

Then I was up in the air. It was impossible, but it was happening. I spun and was lifted high to the roof. Then I fell. For a good three seconds I was falling, too short for a cry to escape my lips but just long enough for the terror to cling to my heart. My hands met the floor first, and I heard a single crack. I rolled myself over and gripped my wrist in shock. A man stepped over to me and smiled. "Johnny Topside," he spoke the dead name. "You've caused quite a hype for yourself here. You wouldn't want to disappoint, would you?"

I watched him raise a hand, and I rose with him. His fingers twirled, and I was forced into a standing position facing the crowd. The man continued, "You think you got what it takes? Huh? You think you can capture their hearts and minds? You've done it once before, but can you do it again?" He made a simple gesture to his side, and I flew in that direction, colliding with the wall painfully. I tried to use my good hand to have the electricity form in my hand—make the power I had felt just a moment ago return, but I was gripped again by the same invisible force. I struggled, but to no avail. Not a limb moved, not even a twitch.

"You know who I am? I was just a poor mug who came for the dream. I was a successful businessman once, can you believe that?" he approached me slowly. "Then I made a deal with the devil. Do you know what happens when Faust can't fill his end of the bargain? The devil comes to collect, anyway." Another gesture. I flew across the other side. I braced for another break, this time probably my ribs, but I was stopped right before the painful moment. My opponent called over, "Fontaine said he would give me back my freedom. Could you believe that, Topside?" I was carried back over to him. He kept his right hand raised, and I watched the other one come up. His fingers snapped and my helmet flicked off of my head roughly. My sweating face met the cool air. Still he kept speaking. "Fontaine promised me if I was the victor in just five shows, he'd let me go. Could you imagine that? Well, bad news, buddy." His left hand made a fist. My throat closed.

"You're lucky number five."

* * *

Alexander watched the spectacle on the side stage. It was gruesome, and he loathed it. He hated all of it. The testing, the use of prisoners, the whole, ugly side of his work he saw now. He looked away and at the clipboard in his hands. The plasmids themselves seemed to be working just fine, and that was all that counted. Testing was the ugly part, but the product would be perfect, and that would well make up for it, anyway. Besides, these men were criminals. Gil shook his head. That fact helped little.

Griffin, however, was engrossed in the battle. Alexander guessed it gave his colleague a little bit of pleasure to view the wake of his work's destruction. Griffin said, "Delta isn't doing too well."

Alexander didn't look up. "Telekineses and Cyclone are powerful plasmids."

"But Electro-Bolt is raw. I would have thought it would have—Alexander! Look!"

Alexander, alarmed, did. He still saw Subject Delta still being held—no. No, not anymore. Now _he _was the one choking the life out of his competitor. "What happened?"

"Brilliant!" Griffin was pleased. "As a second Cyclone trap was forming to finish him off, Delta shocked the eye of the mini tornado! It electrocuted the other subject, distracting him enough to release his hold of Delta. That was all the leg up he needed! Fantastic!"

"Shocking the eye also shocked the opponent?"

"Yes, yes! Another kink to be worked out, I suppose. It looks like there is a slight moment of opportunity when the force itself still seems to have a physical bond to the user. Perhaps it is merely a mental problem, but, if only for a moment, the creator and the creation have an actual connection. So if you harm one, you harm the other at the same time. Like a pregnant woman and the fetus, almost."

"Sounds a bit far-fetched. We should do more tests."

"Far-fetched? Gil, plasmids completely alter the body. We are only just beginning to grasp it's hold on the mind. Can you imagine the connections and bonds that could form from something as powerful as this? But, yes, more tests should be made. This reaction to plasmids is something Suchong will no doubt be fascinated with."

Alexander sighed and looked at Subject Delta. "We should get Delta restrained before he kills that man." He watched the hands wrapped around the neck. The audience was absolutely fascinated. It was like the Roman Colosseum. How easily man could slip into their primitive nature, Alexander noted. They just had to tell themselves it wasn't real, and the violence was completely meaningless, lacking any depth or emotional response other than amusement from the people. "Griffin..." Gil called again.

"What? Oh, fine. Call in security..."

* * *

I was going to kill him. I was going to beat in his skull or choke him until his head swelled up like a balloon. He had had his chance, now it was my turn.

He whispered only, "Please..."

"Please?" I growled, my breath hot with fury. "Please? You think I'll just let you go? So you can try to murder me again?"

"No... please _kill me_."

I loosened my grip in shock of the request. "What?"

"I'll never get out of here. I knew that before this fight started. The devil almost never keeps any of his promises, neither. Please, Johnny. Just let me die a man. I don't want to be a number or a letter. Subject 876, Subject Beta. I want to remain a human being. Please. Just kill me."

But I had no chance to react. While I had been listening, I had missed the curtains drawing on us. Before I even had an opportunity to fulfill the man's last wish, I was pulled off of him. I tried to fight back, but the men were too strong. I clawed and struggled, but I was led, again, back into the dark. One of the doctors was at my side in a minute. I could hear my opponents cries of hopelessness as I was pulled away.

The more sympathetic doctor made the men stop for a chance to look at my wrist. He pulled out a needle. I wailed at the site of it, but was held down long enough for the scientist to inject me. I felt the pain subside and my wrist's swelling go down immediately.

"It should heal completely in a matter of hours. How do you feel, Delta?"

"Like I could kill you with a snap of my fingers."

The other doctor said, "Violent behavior. But not an uncommon side-affect. Well, Delta? You want to kill me with your new powers? Go ahead and try it. Release him, gentleman."

One of the thug's protested. "I don't think that's..."

"Oh, come off it! Do as I say _now_."

I was released, and in an instant I flung the the deadly sparks from my hand to the sadistic doctor. Or, I had thought I had. The doctor still stood, still smiling at me. "You're running on empty, Delta. Let's get this straight right now: you are nothing without us. Do you understand that, Delta? Not even your plasmids aid you without our say so."

I was suddenly exhausted. I slumped against the walls of the hall, and the men gathered my up again. The doctor said, "Now, be a good boy and go to bed. You've had a long day. You were quite impressive in there. Wonderful. I think that calls for a little reward, don't you? How would a roommate sound to you?"

I was taken back to the little cell they called my room. It was little larger than Persephone's, with two slightly more comfortable beds. Inside it now, I saw a silhouette in through the dark. The guards left me inside, staring at the figure.

The voice was young. It said, "Hey Johnny," at my entrance. I felt my heart tug with sadness in recognition.

"Hey, Greg."

* * *

Stanley Poole did not belong here. He knew it coming in and it was becoming increasingly apparent by the moment. He stood in Dionysus Park at the art gallery, trying with all of his will to see what the artist had intended for this sculpture to be. He cocked his head to the right. It looked like a curved mess of mud and clay. He cocked his head to the left. It still looked like a curved mess of mud and clay. Stanley shook his head in frustration. This was art? This was crap, he decided. That was what this was. He turned away from it and attempted to comprehend the next piece.

It was obvious to everyone he didn't belong here. They looked his way and whispered. Some family, he thought sourly. Very welcoming.

He was looking at an abstract picture of some kind of bunny, he guessed, when he felt a soft, warm hand on his shoulder. Poole started, and turned to see Sofia Lamb smiling at him. "Hello, Mr. Poole. My name is Dr. Sofia Lamb." she let held out a hand. Poole wasn't sure what it was she wanted him to do with it for a moment. "Are you enjoying the art, Stanley? If I may call you that."

Poole tried to shake the awkwardness. "Yea, Stanley's fine. Uh, the art? The art's good, I guess. I ain't much of an expert on it."

"My dear Stanley, there is no right or wrong to this art. It is what _you _see in it. Now, what do you see in this painting?"

"A rabbit."

"And?"

Poole frowned. "Look, Doc, you seem very busy doing all... this, and I don't have any cash for the session, so I think I'll go now. I'm sorry to have bothered you, but I didn't come here to have my head cracked open to be psycho-analyzed." This whole thing was a bad idea. He couldn't do it. He would go back to Ryan and tell him to send someone else. This wasn't his beat.

Lamb gently gripped his shoulder as he was stalking away. "I apologize for that, Stanley, but you can hardly blame me. My work tends to linger on me sometimes. It's a habit, I suppose. But Father Wales told me about you, and I think we can help each other. Why don't you sit down and we'll talk business."

Stanley turned back to Lamb"Business?"

She smiled again. "You did say you wanted a way to write with a little more freedom, didn't you? Well, it just so happens I'm looking for a writer willing to 'take the plunge'. Thus, we should discuss business."

Poole stared for a moment. Was she serious? She wanted to pay him to write for her? It was crazy. She would have seen that had she known the full extent of the situation. But this could work very well for him, if Stanley really thought about. It was quite the opportunity. Finally, Poole nodded. Take the plunge, huh? Careful, Lamb. It's a long way down from here.


	12. Blame

**Author's Note:** You'd have to see my profile page for a more descriptive reason behind this, but for now I am lost for inspiration, hence the reason behind the longer wait than normal for a new chapter. I really don't want to use the word hiatus, but there may be longer gaps from here on out between chapters. Maybe once things in my non-FanFiction responsibilities calm down, I can work on this with much more care. So here's the next chapter, which came out at a much slower pace than I would have liked, but anyway... review and such.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Blame**

Fontaine had awoken from the sleep he hadn't realized he'd fallen into with the slam open of his office door. He looked up, eyes glazed over, and saw Sinclair approaching with the haste of the irritated. Fontaine noted Sinclair's face of pseudo calm despite his angry stride. This was going to be good, Fontaine could tell.

Sinclair slammed a newspaper down. "_This_ is disappearing?"

Fontaine glanced apathetically at the Arts and Leisure section of the Rapture Tribune. The main article was of his Plasmid Theater. And the new fighter.

Fontaine rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to gloss over the thin ice he was treading. "People's imagination _do_ run far these days..."

"You're saying this isn't Johnny Topside?"

"Oh, no. That's definitely Topside. Just the idea that people could hazard such a crazy guess is fantastic. The people are much smarter than you think, huh, Sinclair?"

"This isn't a joke, Fontaine! We were under agreement that Johnny Topside was to be a plasmid subject away from public eye. Not paraded around like Mickey Mouse!"

"No. We had an agreement that Johnny Topside was to be a plasmid subject and not to be _spoken of_ to the public eye. You never said a thing about parades."

Sinclair came as close to growling as a man of his stature could. "You put him in his now city-famous diver's suit and then make a big show about him. What do you call that?"

"We never said once that that man was Johnny Topside. We always used the name Subject Delta and nothing else. And that suit is not strictly his diving suit. It's been specialized by Fontaine Futuristics just for the lovely task of plasmid testing and demonstrating. It's pretty revolutionary, actually. We're considering using the same plans for our other projects, but that's besides the point. We did nothing that breached our agreement. The fact that people were able to figure Topside out themselves ain't no skin off my nose."

"Do you have any idea the crap you've gotten me into..."

"Do you have any idea the crap you've gotten _me_ into? Ever since you told my secretary that I was seeing Doc Lamb, I've been gettin' nothing but heartache. She wants to mingle all the time now, and I come in here some mornings and find self-help books magically appearing on my desk! I want a secretary, not a freakin' wife."

For once, Sinclair was speechless, and it pleased Fontaine to see. He waited patiently for Sinclair's tongue to find it's way back to him. Finally, Fontaine looked at his watch. "Hmm," he mused. "Looks like we got another demonstration starting soon. Why don't you take a look firsthand, Sinclair?"

* * *

Everyday seemed to play out the same, numbing cycle over and over again. Get up. Eat. Get pumped with more of the poison killing me little by little. Fight for my life. Get treated. Eat again. Try to sleep before the nightmares take over; some induced by the drugs and some just from the darkness of that fight's deed that day.

Greg was the only thing that made it better. He himself never demonstrated (my fame won me that opportunity), but he was fed the ADAM just as much as me. Sometimes more, depending on which scientist was there that day. Alexander was the good one. Suchong was the cold one. Griffin was the cruel one.

Sometimes Alexander would just talk with you, asking questions as he took notes on that little clipboard he always had with him. He's ask you about your life on the surface, your family, your likes and dislikes. Yes, he always fed you the murderous fluid just like the others, but at least you didn't feel like you had to fight him. Alexander was the sense of calm, despite the massive unrest I found myself constantly in.

But Greg made everything better. There was something shining about him. Like a beacon, he seemed to guide me with a steadiness that I had never had with anyone else. It was an odd thing to find with someone so young, but it was also a calm instead of the turbulence.

The first night was our most memorable conversation.

I was on the bed. The lights were out in the holding cells under the testing facility. Greg sat across from me. I had noticed he was gripping his ribcage, and his face was battered and bruised. I didn't want to look at it; I knew I was the one responsible. I was responsible for everything he was having to go through.

"How are you feeling?" Greg finally spoke.

I shrugged. "I don't know what they did to my hand, but it feels perfect again."

"ADAM can do a lot."

I sighed at this. "ADAM can ruin a lot."

"No kidding. But I doubt people will finally see that until it's too late. Make you wonder, doesn't it? I mean, we have power like no other, and it's sold like a bottle of pop every day. You know what they say about the biggest stick, right? Sometime's I think, eventually, the stick's gonna wind up too big to carry at all."

"Parker..." I struggled with the question I wanted to ask.

"Cigarette?" he held out a pack for me.

I smiled without any warmth. "Sure." I pulled a stick out for myself. "I don't have a light..."

Parker smiled, and snapped his fingers. A fire flickered onto his fingers. The image reminded me of the Saturnine, and with a slightly trembling hand I let out my cigarette to the flame.

"They've already started testing you?"

Parker nodded. "It's not your fault, okay? None of this is your fault."

"If I had never come here you wouldn't be here."

"You _had _to come here. People were dying, Johnny. It was your job to find out why. Now we know the truth. I'd rather be here knowing the truth than up there oblivious to everything."

I sighed and shook my head. "Nolan tried to publish the story, didn't he?"

Parker was silent for a moment, but said, "We thought we could get it out, too. But the publisher we were talking with turned out to be a Ryan man."

"Where is he?"

"I wish I knew. They took him away the night we got here and I haven't seen him since."

"How long have you been here?"

"Just a few nights. A little shorter than you."

"What about Davis?"

"He's dead," Parker lowered his head. "The day you were taken. They came to his house and started questioning him. He got hostile, and they shot him. They say it was self defense."

"Hostile?"

"I think they threatened Kate O'Mally."

I wished I could have had some reaction to that. But it felt as though the emotion was drained out of me. I couldn't feel anything at all. Not sorrow. Not regret. Not anything. It was like the ADAM had taken everything but numbness away from me. "And Clark?" I finally asked.

Parker chuckled. "He told us that same day we all deserved whatever we had coming to us. He said that down here, you either watched out for yourself, or you died over someone else's body."

"Oh."

"Liz is okay, though. She's still out there. Maybe she can figure a way to get the truth out, eh?"

"Maybe."

"None of this is your fault, Johnny."

"Maybe."

* * *

Stan Poole took another swig of his flask as he sat hunched over his typewriter. His Acu-Vox played the message he had just recorded back to him.

"Well, I'm in," the voice was cocky and self-satisfied. "Yep. Yours truly is now the newest member of the_ Rapture Family_."

It was night time in the park. He was given his own work area for however long this stupid thing lasted. Write. He had to write _something_ to keep Lamb blissfully unaware of his true meanings behind his presence. The audio diary continued, "I fed Wales a line about how the Tribune was stopping me from telling the people what's what, and without a word, he hands me an invite to this 'artist's retreat' here at the park."

Poole huffed and reread the last line he had written to himself. Then he ripped the paper out of the typewriter and crumpled it, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Crap. Everything he wrote a load of garbage. He couldn't seem to get his head on straight again. He was too scattered, too conflicted, too nervous. His nerves were on edge. He had to focus. He huffed again. He needed a good, long night at Siren Alley. He allowed himself a moment of grotesque fantasy as the diary finished it's message, "Lamb bought my frustrated novelist act... she's even sponsorin' me to ink it while I'm here. Except my story's all about her... and I don't think she's gonna like the way it ends."

The final line snapped Stanley back to earth, and he shook his head. No, what he really needed was the evidence against Lamb. That was what he needed. Then he could spend all the time he wanted to at Siren. He just had to keep the charade up for a little while. Then he would be fine. He turned to grab back the Acu-Vox laying on the chair beside him. He stopped.

It wasn't there.

Stanley's heart skipped a beat. He tried to remember if he had put it somewhere else. He stood to scour for it. It wasn't like it could just walk away...?

* * *

It was late. She was supposed to be in bed. But she was bored, and Mother had been teaching her all day. She wanted some fun.

Eleanor Lamb giggled as she scurried through the silent halls of Dionysus Park, the stolen Acu-Vox nearly her size in her small arms. The man she had seen wasn't using it, he was writing. Mother always told her that there should never be any distractions when writing. And she needed a friend. So Eleanor had helped both herself and the strange man, then. She skipped down the halls, feeling sure in the idea that her mother would be proud if she had seen Eleanor's act of sainthood and genius.

She found a safe area to fiddle with the audio diary without disturbing anyone. Naturally curious with everything, she was immediately fascinated with the buttons and wires this tape player could hold. She would have fun tonight. But first she would have a good laugh. She clicked on the record button and began, "Hello, Mr. Diary. Want to play...?"

* * *

**Author's Secondary Note: **I know this may seem like filler, but this is actually kind of important to what I've been planning for quite a while now, which will be going on next chapter. Sorry for that.


	13. In Shallow Seas

**Author's Note:** Give a cheer for lucky number two thousand hits! And quite a few more reviews! I thank you all, and hope to hear back again this chapter. This one was more difficult to write than others, due to my previously stated fact that my inspiration is gasping for air. But that isn't really your problem. Enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 12: In This Shallow Sea, We All Drown**

One word. One singular word filled my mind.

Run.

From what? I couldn't tell you. Why? I wasn't sure. I just knew I had to keep moving. The darkness was all around, not only overcoming, but thick as water. My suit clunked, slowing me. I tried to feel the buckles to claw my way out of it, but no matter how hard I pulled, it stuck tight to my body. Like it was my skin now. Like it was my whole body. It felt like snakes were crawling underneath the damned thing, deep below the surface, too far for anyone to see, but I knew it was there. My boots stomped on as I ran through the dark. I had no place to go but the feeling I had to be somewhere.

Laughter and deranged screams came from behind, growing closer by the moment. I pushed on, trying to ignore the ever-growing panic flowing through me. My chest began to burn as my breathing quickened. Couldn't let them get me. Had to keep going.

Water was splashing around my waist. It slowed me. Where was all this water coming from? I kept running toward nothing, the blackness stretched out ahead of me. I squinted. Light. I saw light! My heart leaped toward the pinhole light in the utter darkness. As I grew closer, it grew to a small, angelic beam.

Right over her.

She was small, her hair matted, her dress dirty, her skin a ghostly green hue. She looked at me, eyes filmed with yellow. And she smiled.

My sister.

I tried to run my memory through. My sister was big, wasn't she? She was not a child anymore, I knew that. And yet here she stood, smiling at me. The way she had the Christmas we went out to skate on the frozen lake in our backyard...

She waved. "Hello, Johnny!" she spoke, the words twisting into a voice not her own. I fell back. It couldn't be her. This couldn't be my little sister at all.

"Come on, Johnny! We have to go out to play!" she gripped my gloved hand and dragged me along with her.

"Sweetie," I said slowly as we walked through the darkness, "What happened to you?"

"What are you talking about, Johnny? I've always been this way."

"Oh..."

She turned and looked at me, suddenly distraught. "You have to save me, Johnny! You can't let them get me!"

"Let who get you?" But I knew what she meant very well. The sadistic laughter was getting closer.

"You have to save me! You have to keep me safe! You have to!"

"But I don't know if I can, sis! I'm not sure I won't let you down."

And then my sister was Randy. His eyes were set in anger. "You're going to let us down again, huh, Johnny?"

My head was spinning. "My name isn't Johnny."

"You're just going to let us all die down here? We've done everything for you, and you're just going to crawl into your box and die, Johnny? You've ruined _everything_ for us!"

"My name isn't Johnny!"

Randy faded away. I tried to grip him back. I didn't want him to go away, he was my only friend. I grasped a disappearing arm and held it fast. I looked up and saw Randy, a look of sorrow on his face, shake his head solemnly. My eyes dropped back to the arm. Randy's pulsing, warm wrist was gone. In it's place, a hollowed diving suit. It fell in my arms, empty and dead. I held it for a long time.

The twisted faces were forming close by, each of familiar and unfamiliar enemies. I could count most as those I had fought in The Plasmid Theater. Cold murder filled their eyes, and I knew I was powerless to stop them. My hand raised in a feudal effort to conjure up my Electro-Bolt, but my EVE was gone. Drained away, leaving only exhaustion and fear. They all chanted in synchronization, "You'll never be free until you become a slave."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I backed away, but the wall hit me from behind all too soon. "Stay away from me!"

And then I was falling, falling...

* * *

Greg wasn't there when I woke up.

It wasn't unusual. There were plenty of times he would be dragged off to test yet another plasmid. But this morning I was in a state of contention. I had had nightmares before, yes, never quite so _vivid_. I needed a friend this morning. I tried to imagine my sister. Maybe if I thought of her through this awful day in this endless stream of weeks, everything else would seem unreal.

Like a bad dream.

I was silent as the thugs entered and ordered me to dress back into my diving suit. No fight today. I was feeling just as hollow as Randy's suit in my dream. I fit my leg into the pants and thought of that Christmas Eve, so long ago...

_"But, big brother, you **promised** you would take me out to learn how to skate today!"_

_I looked up from the wrapped present I was trying to examine. I smiled at her. "Don't you wanna guess what's in these boxes?"_

_"Don't be silly! Santa hasn't come yet! The grown ups never have any good presents!"_

_I laughed. She was still too young to have had **that** devastating talk._

_But she persisted, "Come on! This can be **your** present to me!" She raised her little arms and grinned. "I think you're just worried **I'll** be better than you!"_

_"Oh, yea? Fine. We'll just see about that one."_

They led me, just like they had a thousand times before, to the stage. They didn't have to fight with me anymore to pump the EVE into my body; my veins practically begged for it now. I took the deplorable, glowing vile without any new words and emptied it into the suit's designated puncture. Like an itch you just had to scratch, the chemical filling my light addiction. I sighed in the relief of it all. Then I remembered myself. I looked to see the good Dr. Griffin, smiling in cocky approval at my satisfaction. I felt anger at this. I knew what he was thinking, as though it was written out in front of me.

My, Subject Delta, how you've "grown" since your first fight.

_"Come on, Mommy! Don't you think I'll be safe with my big brother?"_

_That wasn't fair. I knew that. Mom knew that. She said, "It's not that, honey. It's just that I don't like either of you going out on the lake before your father has a chance to check it."_

_"Please, Mommy? Daddy won't be home until **so** late, and I'll have to go to bed by then! Come on, it's Christmas Eve!"_

_Mom looked to me for support. She would get none. As far as my little sister, I was sold with just a little bat of those baby eyebrows. "Mom," I said. "I think we'll be safe. The lake's been frozen for days without any show of melting."_

_"Thin ice doesn't make a big show of itself..." Mom gave another look to my sister, and her words melted in her mouth. "All right," she gave in. "Just be careful." _

_She gave me a stern look. "I'm trusting you to protect her, understand?"_

_I grinned. "Come on, Mom. She's my sis."_

The curtains drew just like they always did. My hands sparked with the anticipation. The same showy announcement from the scientists came over the loud speaker. That same pointless, empty applause exploded from the audience. You're not here, I tried to coach myslef. You're not here.

_She ran toward the small lake laughing with excitement. She'd been looking forward to this for months. Her pigrtails bounced on her back, the braids swaying rythmically._

_"Slow down!" I laughed, breatheless as I tried to reach her._

_"Slowpoke!"_

I stared up at the enemies flowing from the side. I counted four. Each fighting for survival just the same as me. The difference, of course, was that I was Johnny Topside, reigning champion of the Plasmid Theater. I was the one that was going to win. It was a fact of life now.

_She laughed, but slowed her pace. "Come on, big brother! Don't fall behind!"_

They always fought. Some well enough to almost beat me. Almost.

I fired a bolt of electricity at the first, who was treading in the pool of water between the stage and the glass seperating the audiance from the prisoners. The opponent lit up almost festively, sputtering and flailing from the shock. He would go into shock in a moment, if his insides weren't burnt out. Either way, this one wasn't a problem anymore.

The second was in the water, too. It was too easy. I fired a shot, and at first it seemed to cause the same affect as the first enemy.

Then it faded away like a ghost.

Decoy.

I felt the weight of a starved human being jump onto my back and hug my throat. He had thought I was low on EVE after a second shot like that. He was wrong. I sent a wave up through the hands to the rest of the body, sending it into a seizure on the floor.

The third was acting tricky. I could see it a few yards away and then dissapear, only to appear at my front to give me a sucker punch and repeat the process all over again. But I watched it's strategy carefully. It was dissapearing, but not teleporting. That meant that, visible or not, it was always tangible. It just took a good imagination to decide where to strike. Once that was realized, dispatching my fighter was an easy task. Calculating quickly in my head, I reached out and gripped the invisible foe by the neck. He lost concentration, and appeared before me again. I kept tightening my grip. In a moment, he was unconscious.

The crowd was growing more excited with each opponent I cut down. Their nature, buried for centuries at the wake of civilization, cried out for more. Just a bit more blood.

It was fine. There was still one more left.

_I gave a quick slide across the shoreline's frozen surface. "See? You just put one foot in front of the other. It's kind of like running, only mixed with gliding. Get it?"_

_My sister giggled. "Well, if it's like running, I'll definetly beat you!" She pulled on the laces of her skate and tired a knot. She stood, wobbled a moment, then grinned at me. "It's slippery!" she laughed._

_"You don't know the half of it. You aren't even on the ice yet."_

_"Well, just watch and see, big brother!"_

I scanned for the last. If this would be like the invisibility game, I would win with ease. I shut my eyes and tried to remember the glimpse of this last one I had seen. He was wearing nondescript trousers and a shirt. That would be no help. But... I tried to focus on the face. It wouldn't come. I stared up in sudden realization. I couldn't remember the face because he was wearing a welder's mask.

It was this same mask that met me with a ball of red goop. I tried to be the one to shoot first, but he avoided the bolt with ease. His reflexes were lightning quick. I was so shocked at having my staple plasmid fail, I missed my own chance to avoid the red plasmid aimed for me.

Red. That was the one, and only, way to describe it. I saw red, I felt red. There was little more. I saw that welder's mask and immediately knew... just _knew_ that that one person was responsible for everything that had happened to me. All in one, he was Andrew Ryan threatening me, Stanley Poole betraying me, Frank Fontaine condemning me, and Dr. Griffin tormenting me. _He_ was my suffering, and because of that he needed to die. It didn't matter how, just to die.

_"Hang on a second, sis!" I warned. "I haven't been out that far yet. I don't know if it's safe."_

_I was impressed. She skated like she was born to be on the ice; her grace was impressive for such a small body. She looked like a little angel as she glossed over the white lake. But still, she was crossing dangerous waters..._

_"You're just jealous, big bro! Wee!"_

In my fit of rage I saw no tactics nor strategies. Only raw force. I charged the mask. I was sure I would hit the culprit of all my pain I gave myself no margin of error. It was a hit or miss.

I missed.

The collision with the wall left my collarbone broken and my arm in a deep bruise already forming under the thick suit, but I paid little attention to it. I forced my focus back onto my opponent. I was going to kill him. I could feel the blood falling down my neck onto my chest. I was going to kill him, but this time I would be more strategic about it. I charged the lightning in my fingers, feeling the tingling static with a sense of glee. I looked to the opponent, grinning wildly, but he made no move to dodge. I fired the ball with all of my force, keeping my sole focus on my key offender. At this rate of charge, he would have no way of moving.

_I watched her do a simple twirl, smile beautifully, and then fall. Fall deep under the ice cold water. I could have looked down and see her little body struggle under the surface._

The man lit up like a Christmas Tree, and then fall. I felt pure joy, absolute_ rapture_, for a moment.

The mask had fallen off as soon as his body had collided with the floor. The face revealed itself to me, and my heart stopped beating.

Greg.

_I felt a pang unending fear. I couldn't move for so long, so many precious moments she had left. **Move **stupd! I tried desperately to get my skates to move toward her. I tried so hard..._

I raced toward the body in terror. A hallucination. It had to be a trick.

But there he was, unmoving, the shock leaving him twitching. Somehow, he was still hanging on. He looked up at me as I approached. I gathered the boy into my arms. I could feel the crowd's ecstasy. They were loving the show. Subject Delta mourning his fallen enemy. It was touching.

_The water was so cold. I jumped in, arms flailing in little less panic then my sister struggling under the water. The water was black. My lungs already began to burn for oxygen as I searched for her._

"Parker..." I couldn't speak. "...What...?"

Parker looked up. And he smiled at me. "They wanted a good show, Johnny."

_Her skin was ice as my fingers met them. I gripped furiously, trying so hard not to notice her limpness. I almost tried to shake her underneath the surface. Wake up, honey._

"They...said," blood dripped down from his face into his mouth. He spat with almost no strength. He tried to continue, "They needed you to bleed..."

_She met the air, but there was no gasp for life. Yet she still clung to me. I had heard stories about death grips. I prayed that this couldn't be it._

Greg still smiled. Over everything, he just smiled. I felt a tear form from behind my helmet. He said, "You've got to keep fighting. You've got to stay free, okay? They can't take that from you, you can't let them."

_I breathed into her mouth. I did it again. And again. Why wouldn't she take that breath?_

"None of this is your fault, got it?" he smiled even wider. It was almost angelic. "I've got to go now..."

"What? NO!" I was at a loss for words. I felt my heart rise in my throat. There was so much I wanted to say. "I'm so sorry."

_"I'm so sorry," I would try one, final time. I gave her one, final breath. I pressed against her chest in it's order in one,last try._

Greg Parker shut his eyes, and died smiling.

_Then I saw her do the unimaginable. I saw her cough, I saw the water fall out her mouth, and I saw her open her eyes. She looked at me, and she smiled._

_My little sister._

_

* * *

_

The curtains closed, the audience happily left on the edge of their seats, fully secure in their cocoon of knowledge. This was all a fake. A simple, somewhat dramatic demonstration of the godlike power they could wield with just a little give of their pocket. They all left, and most hurried to the counter to buy their lovely product.

Sinclair alone remained, staring at the red curtain. It revealed nothing, yet his eyes could not peal away from it.

Augustus Sinclair wondered, briefly, if your sins could ever catch up to you in your life. After seeing this demonstration, he alone in the crowd fully understanding it's true nature, he saw he had quite a few to atone.

* * *

As they tore me away from Parker's body, I watched with horror to see not a medic, but a child crouch over his body. I fought at the arms dragging me off, causing a commotion that, just for a moment, caused the child to stare up at me. I gasped.

The yellow eyed girl from my dreams.

She smiled put a small finger to her lips and said, "Shhh. The angel is sleeping."

I watched as she pulled a needle to her side and plunge it into Greg's body.

"Hey!" I fought harder against my captors. "What is she doing?"

"He's hysterical, Griffin. He needs medical attention." Dr. Alexander was the ever-present conscience.

I _was_ hysterical, sobbing as I fought helplessly. "What have you done? All of you! What have you done to us?"

"Give him a sedative. He needs rest. How many bones do you think he broke this time?"

"This is no time for jokes."

A sharp pinch hit my arm, and everything faded away, as they always seemed to do now. Everything always faded into black...

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Stanley Poole, anyone?


	14. The Thief and the Fool

**Author's Note:** Um, Woah. Almost three thousand hits... Thank you, everyone. So, Stanley Poole's up do bat for the main chunks of the next few chapters. I've been watching a lot of American newspaper forties movies to gear myself up for this, so special thanks to _His Girl Friday_. Carey Grant saved me. From everyone I've gotten feedback from, Poole seems to be the favorite. That's a real surprise to me, given he's such a royal punk. But you asked for it, and I am to serve. On a side note, I have a poll in the process on my profile page. Vote, have a party, whatever you want. Now finally, enjoy, and if you enjoyed, review.

Don't you all hate the shameless begging?

* * *

**Chapter 13: The Thief and the Fool**

Eleanor stared at her door, arms crossed. She hated it. Mother kept it locked now. "You must spend your days on studying from now on. I brought you to the Park, Eleanor, so that you might gain a little perspective from the eyes and ears of the artists no longer supressed by Andrew Ryan's ideology. But, seeing how you would rather act like an ignorant chld, stealing and causing mischief, then I will treat you as an ignorant child. And ignorance, my dear, can only be cured with knowledge." Eleanor could still hear her mother's lecture.

She gripped her arms tighter. She had memorized every feature on this door now. Wooden, clean, shined, and—Eleanor only noticed after hours of staring, a bit crude. It was quickly created by impatient hands that wanted to be over and done with as soon as possible. Eleanor sighed. She wished she had better things to do than imagine what the maker would have thought more important than his job. She wanted to play with someone. She wanted to do something of more signifigance than the algebra she was supposed to be solving.

Then she stopped. She giggled in realization. She had a friend to play with, how could she have allowed herself to forget? She crawled onto her stomach and glanced under her bed. Mother had thought she had found all of her stolen Acu-Vox diaries, but one still remained. The one that she had thought had been oh so noble of her to confiscate. The one the strange man she didn't like much was using. She pulled it out, and hit the record button, ready to play with her friend once again...

* * *

Frank Fontaine stormed through the cramped, dank halls of the holding cells, Dr. Griffin following closely behind.

Fontaine was not having a good day. Gone. Tenenbaum just... gone. Like she had never existed, a figment of the con man's imagination. He was in a rage. If she thought she could just up and leave him and his "projects", she had another thing coming. Fontaine would find her, and then... then she would pay for leaving him hung out to dry. Then he'd hang the little Kraut's body out in the streets by the hair, for everyone to see, to gawk at and know Frank Fontaine was never the one to be cheated. You'd better be _real_ good at hide-and-seek, Kraut, Fontaine thought evilly.

Fontaine was not having a good day. And he was especially not in the mood to deal with _this_.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fontaine, but what am I supposed to do with him like this? Four are already in critical condition, one might never wake from the coma. No amount of speaking will do anything and I have only so much brute force I can afford to lose! It's almost as though we've made him _too_ strong."

Fontaine stopped dead, in a way that almost made Griffin fall back in shock. He whirled to face the doctor. "Almost?" He shook his head, chuckling at his own dark humor. "Last time I checked, I pay you to take care of this for me, not waste my time, dragging me down here to babysit _your_ kiddies."

"With all do respect, sir, you pay me to aid Dr. Suchong and Dr. Alexander in plasmid studies. I'm a scientist, not a warden."

Fontaine grinned evilly. "Oh, but Griffin, I think you've settled into the role wonderfully. What with the abuse, the experiments, the bullying, how could I believe otherwise?"

Griffin frowned at this change in mood. "Fontaine, please..."

Fontaine frowned, also. "It's funny, Griffin. When I'm not around you act like the master of these 'volenteers', even treat 'em like your pets to be tamed. But, when I'm here, you're nothin' but a coward. If there's one thing I hate, Griffin, it's hipocrasy. But, don't worry that expensive little head of yours. I'll handle your feral dog. You're obviously to weak to do it yourself." With that, Fontaine followed with one of the guards to the prisoner's cell, leaving a shocked Griffin in the dust.

Fontaine ordered the cell door to be opened, and gazed at the troublmaking prisoner. Subject Delta did not even glance up at his entrance. His diving suit lay in a heap in the corner. His dark hair was unwashed and uncut, curls forming on the edge of the locks. He was already showing signs of deformities from the constant splicing, and his eyes were of a dead man's. For a moment, just a moment, Fontaine almost felt sorry for the shell of the man sitting before him. Fontaine even sympathised. He felt pity for the pure innocence and nobility he saw in the supposed traitor of Rapture. But that feeling only lasted a moment. Sympathy was replaced with anger, understanding replaced with loathing, and empathy fell to cold cruelty. Fontaine was suddenly pleased in seeing another fail in the self, in the collective, in hope. Fontaine, seeing Delta as almost one of his disciples to his ideology, was even proud. _That's right kid,_ Fontaine spoke to Delta without saying a word. _There is nothing. There's you. There's me. There's **this**. No chain. No butterfly. **Now**."_

"Get up," Fontaine physically spoke a command to the man. "I've got some cheer to give you."

* * *

Stanley Poole stormed through the halls to find baby Doc Lamb's room. After Lamb's formal apology at breakfast over the missing audio diaries, Poole knew where he would find his. He could not risk anyone hearing his recordings, and it was his alone that was not returned. Lamb seemed unaware of his lost item, and Poole had to keep it that way. He wasn't sure what he would do once he found the girl, but he knew he had to get his recordings back. No matter what it took.

The halls were quiet. Lamb was at her little soap box for the morning speech. Poole rolled his eyes. Every cult had to have some stupid lecture every minute of every day. That was the thing about cults, religion, and hero worship, Poole decided. It was only for the weak to have feelings of mush forced down their traps. Rapture didn't need these creeps.

By the time he had reached the child's room, he had decided he was the super mole for Ryan purely for good intentions.

* * *

Fontaine was frustrated. I could tell. His threatening had gone on for almost a full hour, and I had not spoken a word. There was no point. I was done. I would not be testing any more plasmids, and I would kill anyone who tried to force me.

Finally, Fontaine sighed tiredly shook his head. "Forget it. Starve in here for all I ca—" Fontaine stopped. He stared at the me for a long moment, and a smirk crossed his face. "You know what?" he said. "I think I'll give you what you want."

I watched as Fontaine exited out of the cell and called over a guard. As the guard locked the door, Fontaine ordered a shaking Dr. Griffin over. "This guy only gets one meal a day," he said to the doctor. "You got that? He can have all the water he wants, but no extra helpings. And I don't want Topside to have even a drop of ADAM, understand?"

"Mr. Fontaine," Griffin stammered, "it isn't good to address Subject Delta as his public name..."

Fontaine rolled his eyes and gripped the scientists collar, pulling him roughly towards himself. "I'll call him any name I want. I say Topside. Wanna know why? Because it drives Ryan crazy. I'll do _anything_ to drive Ryan crazy. You gonna keep asking me to follow useless rules or are you going to follow my orders?"

Even I was taken aback by the murder set in Fontaine's eyes. It nearly washed away any benevolent memories I had of him.

"Yes, Mr. Fontaine. I will do what you ask."

Fontaine released Griffin, and glared at me. The smile crossed his face again. "We'll play your game, _Johnny_," the venom dripping form the name reminded me so much of Ryan. "But when you want to call Uncle, I'll be right here." With that, Fontaine disappeared.

* * *

"You know, Mister Diary, the other day I was playing with Amir, and he actually tried to hold my hand!" Eleanor giggled to herself and the diary. "Boys are silly, aren't they, Mister Diary?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the knock on the door. Was Mother back already? If she caught Eleanor with the diary, she would be in more trouble than ever. Frantically she looked for a place to hide the diary, but the door creaked open before she had a chance. She glanced up swiftly, fear twisting in her eyes.

The strange man was at the door. Eleanor let out a sigh. There was no need to fear. Mother was not home.

"Hello." Eleanor eyed the stranger. "What are you doing in my room?"

The man looked speechless for a moment, as though he had not expected Eleanor to be in _her_ room. This man was even odder than she thought. "I, uh, I'm lookin' for somethin'." His eyes narrowed at the site of the diary. Eleanor pulled it to her chest, and brows set at the look in his eyes. "Look, mister, I saw you in your office! You're supposed to be quiet during writing, not listening to yourself! That's silly, anyway! This is Mr. Diary now. He's my friend."

Poole raised an eyebrow at the child, then chuckled. "Easy, kid. I ain't gonna take your pal. I'm glad it's being used. But, could I see it for just a moment?

Eleanor hesitated, but nodded and gingerly passed the diary to the man. He rewound the tape as Eleanor listened to the silent whine. He pressed the play button at the very beginning. "Well," Eleanor heard the stranger's voice over the recorder. "I'm iiinnn—" the recording changed, and instead, Eleanor's voice popped up. "Well, Mister Diary, I had a dream last night. We—"

Poole shut off the tape. He chuckled again. "You know, kiddie? I like that this is being used. I barely use it now, you know? Wouldn't want it to get lonely." He flipped it from side to side to get a look over his diary. It had certainly been used. From the looks of it, she had even broken it and put it back together. A sudden idea hatched into Stanley's mind. "Say, you like to play with these diaries?"

Eleanor pouted at the word "play," but nodded.

"How would you like to help me? See, I'm cooking up a surprise for your ma. Want to know what it is?"

Eleanor was intrigued. Another nod.

"You have to promise you won't tell."

"I promise, sir!" she crossed her heart proudly.

Stanley made a show of glancing around the room. "Okay, kid," he whispered, "but I'm trusting you with this. See, at the end of this retreat, we're all plannin' a surprise party for the Doc. Your mom. But, we want to throw together lots of her speeches and... some of her diary notes. They're pure genius if they're from you her, and we thought it'd be a nice touch. A swell surprise, what do you think of that?"

"Why would you need me?"

"Because we need _you_ to get them, get it? We couldn't get them if we tried. But you're a smart girl, ain't ya? You could handle this no problem. Get those audio diaries, and you'll blow your mom out of the water! She'll be so proud of you!"

"Really?" Eleanor couldn't even imagine her mother surprised. She always seemed to know everything. She mulled for a moment. If she could make her mother happy, maybe she would go easier on her. Eleanor smiled. It was worth a try. "Okay, mister! I'll do it for you!"

"Good, kid, good. You think you could do it soon? We've got to get the stuff raring to go as quick as possible, you know?"

"Yes sir!" She saluted happily.

"Eleanor!" Stanley nearly jumped a mile at the call of Sofia Lamb.

"Oh, that's my mum. I have to go!" She waved at the man as she hurried out with all of the trust of an innocent child.

She didn't even know his name.


	15. Angel

**Author's Note:** Thanks to my reviewers last time around. And to **LadyofDarkness90**, after reading over the last chapter a second time, I find I must agree with you. The change of POV's did come a little too quickly. I hadn't noticed that, and I'm glad you pointed it out. It shouldn't happen again. Well, except for dramatic effect, that is. For all the rest of you, review and give me just a little more perspective to carry around with me. Things are starting to get even crazier for me, but I'm trying to update as quickly as I can. Stick with me, guys, I really am trying my very best.

By the way, Stanley's lack of focus is _exactly_ how I feel...

* * *

**Chapter 14: Angel**

"Get it together, Poole. Just get your act together, for crying out loud."

Stanley Poole stared at his mirroring self in disgust. It was late, the halls and galleries were silent as the dead. Tonight had to be the night. It just _had _to be. He had finally passed in those diaries that kid had been so kind to grace the reporter with. In them was more evidence than strippers at Eve's Garden. Eve's Garden...

Soon enough. Stanley pressed his fingers harder into the marble. He had to focus, even if focusing scared the living bajeebees out of him. In just a few moments the Security boys would be through those doors and Doc Lamb was as good as gone. And all that scratch... all of Dionysus Park, would be ripe for the taking.

But if Lamb was gone, where would the cult members go? What if they saw? What if those who saw were some of the more "loyal" fans? Poole dunked his head yet again into the flowing stream of water. Focus. Focus.

An image formed in Poole's mind. Foggy, but there. It formed slowly, slowly... before Pool's closed eyes, in the blackness of his mind.

A man in a diving suit.

Poole jerked himself back. He shouldn't be daydreaming about Johnny Topside. He should be... "Staying focused," Poole finished his own thought out loud.

This was getting tiresome. Could he possibly be feeling _guilt_ for that worthless diver? Naw, couldn't be. Poole was capable of a lot of things, but guilt was not on his list. Maybe those were just a mesh of thoughts that hadn't undergone spring cleaning. Instead, they lingered, plaguing Pool's mind. It needed to be swiped clean like it had never happened. After all, Topside was bye-bye. Probably couldn't even remember his own name by now. Just splicing splicing splicing. And why should Stanley for sorry for something like that? Most folks gave up a left arm for something as rare and powerful as ADAM. And Topside had a one-way ticket to Nirvana. If that weren't a blessing, Poole didn't know what was. Topside should be thanking the reporter—if he could a this point, that was. Wait... not Topside. Delta. That's what Poole had heard him being called. Stanley smirked. A new name for a new man, hmm?

Still, the image was fresh in his mind. And it showed no sign of disappearing.

Poole wiped his mouth. He really needed to just spill some of this crap out to something. Maybe his typewriter would serve just the purpose, or maybe...

Poole stopped suddenly. A grin crossed his face. A devious, arrogant, self-appointing grin. An evil grin...

He would go talk to someone, sure.

And wasn't talking Doctor Sofia Lamb's specialty?

Stanley trudged through the halls like a rat in the sewer. The shadows seemed to almost grace him, a rarity for a weasel such as he. This was his element. The reporter was not an honorable truth-teller, he was thief. Instead of finding the truth, he stole the ugly facts—and he doled them out so carelessly. He wasn't Randy Nolan. He wasn't Johnny Topside. He wasn't Lamb. He wasn't Ryan. He wasn't Sinclair.

He was greed incarnate.

"Doc?" Poole rapped the door gently.

"Y-Yes?" Lamb's voice was strained. Stanley peeped inside, as though he were stepping into a minefield, and scoured the situation.

Lamb sat in a grand leather chair, alone. Eleanor was gone, and it seemed as though the tissue—Lamb clutched it so tight, was taking the child's place. Poole was taken aback. Seeing Lamb with a lone tear down her cheek, piercing her hard exterior for just a moment, was that of watching a statue crumble. Or maybe watching a god bleed. Poole frowned. This was not what he had expected.

"Where's the kid? Er, Eleanor?" he asked plainly.

Lamb eyes snapped to him—shooting, murderous eyes. But they disappeared as quickly as they had come, making Poole wonder if he had seen them at all.

"She's gone to stay with a friend of mine," Lamb answered quietly.

"Really? Who?"

Lamb hesitated. "It's not important." The stone mask appeared back onto her face. "You came here for a reason, didn't you, Stanley?"

"Yea, I had a few things I wanted to discuss with you. I've been having trouble focusin' lately, and I was wondering if you could give me a hand with, uh, collecting my thoughts, you know?"

Lamb smiled faintly and gestured toward a seat. "Take a seat, Stanley. And tell me all..."

* * *

It was hard to tell the time of day anymore. I used to rely on my internal clock, but now my sleep patterned was constantly interrupted by my withdrawal pains. Seizures, migraines, tight chests... it was all there. Everything hurt so badly...

And I was completely unaided. Just as Fontaine had ordered, I was only given one meal a day, and although Fontaine had allowed me as much water as I wanted, Griffin rarely gave me a second glance at the request. I think he blamed me for his embarrassment at Fontaine's hands. One meal, one canteen of water, and no medical attention. Days passed slowly, but I endured. I just had to endure.

This... hour, I was playing one of the hardest games with myself as of the long days of withdrawal. Staying still. Every moment I sat, I felt as though every bone wanted to move. Whenever I moved, my muscles ached so sharply I fell to the ground after a few paces around the cell. And when I finally crawled back to the bed, I continued to shake at the stillness. It felt as though I were at a constant state of unrest and exhaustion. But I decided it was better to just calm the calamity in my body rather than heed to it. It was only safe.

It was this game I was playing when _he_ came back.

"Not quite so arrogant now, eh, kid? I find it's easy to break someone who pretends to be strong when you snatch away the little power they _think_ they have. See, I take your ADAM, and then," Fontaine snapped his fingers, "ta-da. Broken. Resistance goes poof like a lame magic act. So tell me, how does it feel?"

I didn't answer. I didn't even look in his direction. The _clank_ of the cell doors told me it was opened for my captor. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him gripping something small in his hand.

"Now, as much fun as I'm having seeing you like this, it's losing me money. So I think it's time to nip this thing in the bud. A good business deal can only last so long, and I think ours must come to an end. So, come on, don't make this hard for me. Take the plasmid."

With almost no strength, I shook my head.

"Yea, I figured. So I decided to bring along a little bit of incentive. I would suggest you look my way, Topside."

Alarmed at the tone, I turned. My eyes widened.

The girl...

The yellow eyed girl.

"W-What are you doing?"

Fontaine smirked. "_Now_ I've got your attention. See this kid? She's an investment of mine. One of many. Cute, isn't she? Name's Eden. Ironic for a place like this, huh? She likes sunflowers."

"Fontaine, what are you doing?"

"Incentive. Now, this kids definitely cute, and she does get me some cash, but you get me a whole lot more. I'm willing to sacrifice one asset..." he smiled, "to have another returned."

I didn't need that awful click of the gun to tell me what he meant. "No..." I whispered.

"Let's not traumatize little Eden, kid. Just let the nice doctors give you your medicine and the ugliness doesn't have to come.

The girl... Eden, seemed almost oblivious to the awful situation befalling her. She stared blankly. "Papa Frank?" she said quietly. "Where are the angels?"

"Sit tight, darlin'. There may be one in just a moment."

Angels! Angels. that was what the girl had said when she dug the needle into Greg's body. Angel...

I stood to protect the girl—to fight off Fontaine, but once I stood I wobbled in utter weakness. "Oh no," Fontaine said. "None of that. It doesn't make Eden very happy."

"Fontaine, you son of a—"

"Eden, are you a good counter?"

The child nodded happily. "Yes sir, Papa Frank."

"Count to ten for me. I need to keep track of something."

The girl shut her eyes. "One... two..."

"Your call, kid," Fontaine let the sentence hang in the air like a stench. I growled and glared, trying with all of my might to will my body to respond.

"Four... five..."

My freedom, the last bit I had, seemed to fade away as I stared at the child. She was the only hope left in this terrible place. I had to make a choice. Sacrifice...

"Eight... nine..."

"Stop!" I spoke with more authority than I thought I was capable of in my condition. "Don't."

Fontaine let out a sigh. "Too predictable. That's the problem with you patriots. So noble you'd cut your own throat with a smile on your face just for the name of _good nature_. Too bad it's too late for you to learn a lesson like this. Would've done you some good." Fontaine raised a hand and motioned for the scientists to come. Those same damned scientists.

I knew this drill. This useless dialog. Suchong will announce the poison, Alexander will apologize, and Griffin will jam it into my arm. So the cycle continued.

"Oh, by the way, Topside," Fontaine wallowed in his victory as he led the girl away. "After a while of no plasmids your body isn't used to the chemicals. This may hurt just a little more than usual."

The contents emptied into my body.

The rest was a blur. I fell to my hands and knees screaming as the fire danced around my insides. I heard the sound of a child's cry. I felt a small hand top mine. I felt a tear splash against my wrist.

She knew. I don't know how, but Eden knew.

That day, she was my angel.

* * *

"Hmm, Stanley there seems to be quite a few things you're not telling me."

Could she see that well through him? Poole felt beads begin to form on his brow. "Well, you know, there's some things that need to remain—"

"Lamb? Open this door!" A fist pounded on the wood.

"I'm afraid," Lamb called softly, calmly. "We're in the middle of a session. Please return later and I'll be sure to speak to you personally.

Poole was shocked, both feigning and in reality. Maybe this wasn't such a clever idea. "You should probably..."

"Lamb! This is Rapture's Security Force! Open this door before we break it down!"

"It seems, dear Stanley," Lamb said as the door was thrown open, "we'll have to continue this at another time."

It seemed almost to quick. In a moment, Lamb was in cuffs, and led out of the room.

And Stanley Poole was left alone.

* * *

Fontaine nearly tossed the Little Sister toward Alexander. "Fontaine," the humane scientists declared, "You know as well as I that the children can't be injured by a gunshot. Not really."

"I know that. You know that. For some egghead scientist, you don't quite seem to be catching on. There was only one way to get that kid back on his feet, and that was to threaten. You know the drill."

"I suppose so. Still, I don't like it. But you _have_ reminded me of a very important problem we must continue to research. Those children can't be expected to survive on their own. They barely understand the hand in front of their faces."

"Then by all means, doc, get right on it. By the way, you know happen what the date is? I seem to have forgotten."

Griffin thought for a moment. "It's the eleventh of September, I believe."

"That's right! I have a party to get ready for the evening. It's gonna be one mind blowing night, my dear Alexander." Fontaine set an evil smile on his face. He patted the doctor on the shoulder. "I'd better get going. Remember, doc, I'm always here to check up on you. Never forget that."

Alexander shivered and made no move as he waited for Fontaine to stalk off. That man...

Alexander turned his thoughts away from "boogy man" Frank Fontaine. There was something very interesting about the confrontation the doctor had just witnessed, and that was the child's reaction. Rarely did the Little Sisters ever acknowledge another human being, but she did this one. Her protector.

There was something else very important Eden had cried to the fallen man.

She had called him "Daddy."


	16. Her

**Author's Note: **I bet ya thought this story was dead, didn't ya? Well, it's been almost a year, and I've finally buckled down and doled out this new chapter. And it's a heavy one. I don't know if fans of this story are even still around, but I hope that I've done this chapter and this story enough justice to gain new ones.

Hope you enjoy. I plan to at the very least try to pick this back up again. I can't let it just die.

* * *

Time didn't seem to move here.

At least, not in hours. Not in days. Not even weeks.

Time was not measured in minutes or seconds. Time was not a product of the ticking of the clock. Time was the next fight, the next plasmid, the next fight for my life. The next man carried for the next experiment of the next update of the next scientific breakthrough.

Tick. Tock.

Rumors fluttered the halls. There were whispers of time that did not revolve around our sick little world that seemed to continue moving by, regardless of the hell that we, ourselves, were endlessly trapped in. Fontaine dead. The poor left to die. Ryan killing smugglers. Fontaine Futuristics taken over. Lamb imprisoned.

Atlantis was dying. Everyone in here knew it.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing, but ADAM.

It was in our blood, it was in our minds. And it was becoming more and more of an essential to our very lives. Without ADAM, there was no life. There couldn't have been. It was everything.

I remember being shocked when I first saw the fights. Not the fights over freedom. Freedom wasn't so important anymore. What was freedom, but just another illusion? We'd leave this place and find ourselves still stuck in this waste of a city. Eden was leaking. Olympia was tearing itself apart. Atlantis was dying. War was stirring in the air.

No, freedom was not the priority. Freedom was not on our minds. We were not fighting for freedom any longer.

We were fighting for ADAM.

I remember being shocked when I first saw the fights. I remember watching men ripping throats open and feeling sick. It's just routine now. It's just survival of the fittest. Ryan's greatest dream. Every man for himself.

Atlantis was dying.

I couldn't wait until it took me with it.

* * *

Gil Alexander turned buttons and nobs and other such pieces of equipment, a frown on his face. Everything was nearly prepared. Tonight it started. Tonight his career was either made, or ruined. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Everything had to be perfect.

The Big Daddies, as had become their official name, were failing. If they couldn't even fill out their primary purpose of protecting the Little Sisters, his experiments at Ryan Industries would be a failure. Suchong had failed. He had underestimated the Big Daddy. Now Alexander wondered if he was overestimating them.

But doubt would most certainly be fatal if he continued. He took a deep, calming breath, glancing over at the straps and buckles on either place, one large and bulky, the other small. Alexander frowned. All this business with the little girls... It was so disconcerting. His face set into a concerned scowl before he turned away. Now was no time to get sentimental.

The Daddy candidate had been a simple enough choice. It had always been Subject Delta. No one was more befitting an experiment of this proportion than Johnny Topside.

And the child was no exception.

He remembered when she had been brought here. When Eleanor Lamb was a frightened little girl, dragged in by that slimy scumbag Poole. She was asking too many questions, he said. She was a liability, he said. Better that she disappear like Topside, he said.

And that was exactly what she was going to do.

She was brilliant, of course. The smartest girl they had. Where the other girls wandered, she led. Where they were herded, she pointed to new paths. The lab aids and Alexander's colleagues expressed concern, and even intimidation for her vigor, but Alexander saw potential.

Johnny Topside and Eleanor Lamb.

The ones who disappeared without ever being truly forgotten.

So many people were gone. Hangings, kidnappings, people plucked from the streets of the city. And he was one of the monsters hiding under the bed, stealing them all away.

After a while, people stopped asking.

But those two. The girl and the tin man.

Those questions still persistently buzzed in the air.

Alexander brushed his fingers along the controls. Today they would not need to disappear. Today, they would be more than just conspiracies. They would be revolutions. They would be something so much more than man and child.

They would be father and daughter.

Presently, Alexander glanced up, the sound of someone clearing their throat meeting his ears. A lab aid stood in the doorway.

"We're ready, Doctor."

* * *

They led me away as usual, but there was something in their eyes. I still noticed little things like that from time to time. Maybe today they would kill me. Maybe today I could finally die.

I didn't understand why I didn't just do it myself. It wasn't like there was a point in life. Yet, any time I tried to do something to end my life, throw a fight, overdose, attack a guard... I would remember something. Something that nipped at my ear and chirped away.

_"Endure..."_

I sighed, slumping in the arms of the men that dragged me towards the labs. The halls were so dank, like I was in the laboratory of Doctor Frankenstein, himself. There were a few leaks around that dripped along the walls, echoing along the rooms, a constant reminder of just how weakened Rapture had become.

I asked halfheartedly where we were going. This wasn't a part of the usual rounds. Of course I wasn't answered. With a groan of the doors, I was pushed into a new room altogether. I blinked as the bright lights flashed into my face.

"Subject Delta."

My head twitched at the call of my name. It was my name now. I couldn't even remember if I was ever anything before that. I was Subject Delta. My mother must have named me that, herself. That was, if I even had a mother. I was beginning to even question if I were not born into these prisons, trapped in these bars since the very beginning of time.

Tick. Tock.

They led my staggering body towards a place to rest. I relaxed against the embrace of the table. Around me, I could see my suit, opened like a tin can.

That was when she came.

They brought her in, holding her hand tightly. Her ponytail bounced behind her head as she walked along, her dress soiled with dirt and blood and gushes of ADAM. Her soulless yellow eyes gazed about the room curiously, her dirty pallor practically glowing under the bright lights.

"Where are the angels...?" she asked softly. I had seen many Little Sisters, but somehow, her voice, twisted as it was, held a sweetness to it. It was as though she not only harvested dead bodies, but I could imagine that she lured them to her, herself. She hummed a little tune, oblivious to everything around her, as they all were.

Gil Alexander knelt by her, offering his hand to take the small needle. She was reluctant at first, her face forming into a pout as she clung to the tool. But he was gentle, patient, carefully wrapping his own strong hands around her and pulling it away, stroking her hair as he did so.

"Subject Delta." My name was called again. I looked up to see Alexander, still stroking the girl's hair, glancing up at me. "I would like you to meet someone."

I blinked my eyes once, looking down to the small child. Our eyes met. I felt cold under the stare.

I looked away.

"Delta, this is Eleanor. As of today, she is your daughter."

I snapped my head up to look at him. Daughter.

My mind clicked.

I mouthed something.

I whispered something.

I shouted something.

I screamed something.

Words spilled from my lips. I fought, my arms suddenly straining under the buckles I hadn't realized were strapped over me. I wailed and raged, veins popping from my neck as my blood boiled over.

No.

No.

No.

Not me.

Work was suddenly done much faster around the room. The girl was carried and strapped down herself. I heard nothing from her but a persistently confused whine. It hurt my ears.

Not me.

The suit seemed to move on it's own, like a monster trying to envelope around me. This was the suit I had gone to hell in. And now, I was going to become this suit.

For the love of God, please, not me.

I had seen them be dragged away. I had seen them come marching back. They had no eyes. They had no soul. They just stomped. They just followed. Not me. Please. Not me.

I couldn't tell what I was saying or what I was screaming anymore. My body grew hot as fire. I want to die. Please let me die.

The suit continued to gobble me up. It ate away at my soul. My being. No soul. No me. Nothing left. What would be left?

The helmet was the last. It finally came over my face, muffling my screams. In a moment, my voice was gone altogether. A wale-like moan broke from me. No voice. No being. No soul. Just a suit. What was left?

Tick. Tock.

Images filled my head. Thoughts turned to mush. No thoughts. No voice. No being. No soul. Just...

Just...

I was losing consciousness. What was left? The images persisted. The emotions faded. Something fired inside of the very core of my being, and filled me from my toes—my boots, to my helmet.

No emotions. No thoughts. No voice. No being. No soul.

Just...

Just...

Just one thought. One feeling. One being. One soul.

_...Her._

Everything faded into darkness.


End file.
